


Angel with the Emerald Eyes

by Merkwurdigliebe



Series: The Morlock Chronicles [3]
Category: Dark Age of Camelot (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Arthurian, BDSM, Backstory, Bisexual Female Character, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Historical Fantasy, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Strong Female Characters, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2021-04-15
Packaged: 2021-04-17 09:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwurdigliebe/pseuds/Merkwurdigliebe
Summary: Now residing in the quiet town of Connla, a cleric recounts her tales as a young adventurer struggling with love, lost companions, and fate in the post-Arthurian realms of Hibernia, Albion, and Midgard.
Series: The Morlock Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1375297
Kudos: 2





	1. Uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

>   
**Forward**   

> 
> The following work came about after I realized that the cleric from _The Highlander and the Celt_ had tremendous potential. Combined with the unnamed Reaver from the same work, the story that resulted (often referred to as a “plot bunny”) was written concurrently with Part 2 (mostly around 2003-2005). Since then the tale of Isabella the Cleric has become one of my favorites.
> 
> However this story’s style diverges considerably from that of my previous, hence the warnings. It is an experiment: take your favorite character, put them in the worst possible situation, and watch them get out. I make no apologies; this is fantasy and does not necessarily reflect my personal views.
> 
> I hope readers enjoy. They will (hopefully) be seeing more of Isabella.
> 
> Published December 7th, 2019

> Oh muse! Sing in me, and through me tell the story  
of the woman who possessed,  
not only visions beyond those of mortals,  
but also the love that dare not speak its name…

* * *

In the weeks following the fall of Castle Darkspire, the people of Hibernia and their friends reclaimed their homeland. It was a time of great joy but also a time of great sadness. Much of the land had been ravaged during J’nar’s reign and only now were the freed peoples of Hibernia beginning to assess the damage of nearly two decades of occupation.

Not only was the destruction environmental, but the land’s magic had been absorbed and perverted by J’nar’s quest for ultimate power. Much of Connacht remained a magic-dead land with spells not working at all, or worse, causing massive destruction to the caster and those around them.

However not all of the damage was irreversible or detrimental. The rift in the veil caused by J’nar’s experiments and the destruction of Castle Darkspire opened up new lands and freed the Shar peoples – new allies in the fight against Albion.

An uneasy truce remained between the Celt and the Norse, allowing Hibernia to lick its wounds. And even a few Midgardian expatriates now called Hibernia their home. But despite all of Hibernia’s new allies, the Elves remained hidden, refusing to return. Not since the death of the Blademaster Rayne Golradir – Abaigeal’s teacher, and secret lover – had the elfin members of the Otherworld been heard from.

In the north, teams of dwarven engineers assisted in the repair of the frontier gates Druim Caine and Druim Ligen. The structures were reinforced based on the experiences at Vindsaul Faste while the new armies of Hibernia began reclaiming the northern lands from Moher to the Cursed Forest from the denizens that had taken over in their absence. However the southern lands of the Celts showed much less damage.

After the invasion, Connla and much of the rest of southern lands of Hibernia had managed to escape the majority of Albion’s attention. As a result, the recovery and rebuilding of the land progressed quickly. Isabella, the former cleric who had chosen to remain with Abaigeal and her family, used her knowledge of healing to aid the survivors of Albion’s lengthy occupation.

Isabella had encountered little opposition to her presence in Connla; some of the residents were old enough to remember Abaigeal’s father – the first Albion visitor to their village. Isabella’s aid was welcome, although being isolated meant many residents of the small village had not bothered to learn the common tongue, thus making communication difficult at times. But having witnessed nearly forty winters, Isabella was no stranger to hardship and accepted the adversity as a consequence of her decision. Even with J’nar dead, returning to Albion would be impossible for her. 

Isabella stared at the grey clouds obscuring the afternoon sun and contemplated her new life. The former Church of Albion cleric reclined beneath an old oak tree a fair distance from the center of the village of Connla and idly fingered a wooden flute. Her light armor hugged her slim form as the breeze tousled her light brown hair about her face. Isabella brushed the hair from her face revealing a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose. She surveyed the village.

“It’s changed so much…” she mused aloud. 

A young, ginger-haired woman cradling an infant exited one of the huts. Behind her, a woman not much younger than Isabella helped the new mother. The two of them doted on the child until the older woman looked up and spied the Briton woman watching them. The woman pushed her long, curly black hair out of her face then smiled warmly at Isabella. 

_Does she remember? _Isabella wondered. The older celt woman’s brilliant blue eyes and innocent face were unmistakable and had changed little despite eighteen winters of harsh, Albion rule. Isabella realized that the woman she had met so long ago was a grandmother now.

Isabella smiled back and waved. No matter how hard she tried, the Albion exile could not escape her memories. The former cleric looked back to the younger woman holding the infant and noticed for the first time the light red hair. The young mother was obviously of Celtic decent, but if she indeed was the older woman’s daughter, the color of her hair was truly out of place. Isabella sighed when she realized what had happened.

“It seems my efforts were for naught,” she whispered to herself. The Albion woman took comfort in the fact that the two of them seemed happy regardless of events that took place so long ago. However, amidst her musing, something else caught Isabella’s eye, something that always lifted her heart. There upon a large, weathered boulder at the water’s edge – where she could be found almost every morning – sat Abaigeal. 

The daughter of Keeley Elil – a Celt woman from Connla – and Eirik Westlake – the son of both Norse and Briton – Abaigeal had grown up with her family in Midgard. Orphaned at birth but unaware that her father was still alive, Abaigeal had only recently learned of her father’s full heritage. However the worst blow came when Abaigeal learned her father served Albion as J’nar’s assassin. The truth had been confirmed by none other than Isabella herself.

Abaigeal was not to be deterred from reuniting with her last living relative and she set out to confront her father in Castle Darkspire. Only when Eirik saw his daughter in peril did he realize the true path and sacrificed himself to save Abaigeal. With Abaigeal’s help, Eirik had defeated the vile J’nar ending nearly twenty years of the evil mage’s rule over Hibernia…and Albion. But this fact meant very little to Abaigeal whose mood had remained somber since laying her mother and father to rest. 

Despite the young woman’s perpetual melancholy, Abaigeal always managed to bring a little joy to Isabella’s heart. But the Briton woman felt great concern for the young mixed-blood woman. Ever since they arrived in Connla – and indeed ever since Isabella had met her – Abaigeal’s somber mood had deepened. Her adoptive parents – Liam and Romana – had comforted her as much as possible, but Abaigeal never spoke of her troubles. Everyone who knew her assumed it was due to mourning the loss of her family.

But Isabella saw more than most people could. Isabella had been blessed with more than what the Church or any wizard could teach her: Isabella could see deep into the souls of anyone she wished. It was an ability bestowed upon her at conception and one that she had never spoken about to anyone in Albion, fearing retribution from the Church. Isabella learned of her ability at an early age and over the years learned to interpret the visual manifestations of the soul. However they were often cryptic. 

But beyond seeing into a person’s soul, Isabella could see deep into a person’s emotional state. Looking into Abaigeal’s was like peering into the eye of a storm: grey, mournful, and uneasily calm when all around her was in chaos.

The two of them had spoken little in the past few weeks, but then Abaigeal had spoken very little to anyone since arriving in what was supposed to be her home. Isabella stayed close to the young woman and a silent bond formed between them. At least Isabella felt that a bond had formed. Abaigeal’s emotions on that front were difficult to read.

But to Abaigeal, Isabella’s presence raised many questions that needed answering…and many emotions she did not understand. Since their first meeting in Castle Hurbury, Abaigeal had been wrestling with her feelings concerning the older woman. The death of Rayne and the separation from her dear friend Katzch did not help either.

Isabella watched Abaigeal stare out over the waters of Shannon Estuary where her parents’ ashes had been scattered. The young woman folded her arms and hugged herself as the growing wind buffeted her body as she sat perched atop the smooth boulder. After watching Abaigeal for a long while, Isabella clutched her flute, got up and tentatively approached.

Up close, Abaigeal’s mood appeared darker, but as Isabella approached her, Abaigeal relaxed. The effect of Isabella’s presence was two-fold. In addition to her insecurity about the past, Abaigeal saw the woman as an anchor for her future. Each time their paths crossed, Isabella hoped to speak to Abaigeal about her concerns, but the older woman hesitated – not knowing how to broach the subject. Isabella sensed the impasse between them and sought to finally end it.

“Abaigeal?” the older woman spoke. Abaigeal –who had been gently running her hand over the boulder’s smooth surface – turned to Isabella and a weak smile curled the edge of her mouth. Again, the same uncertainties froze the young woman, barring her from speaking. Isabella decided to be blunt. “Abaigeal, what is troubling you?” Isabella placed her arm around the young woman and squeezed gently. Abaigeal leaned into her and rested her head on the woman’s neck.

“You must hate me.” Abaigeal’s voice cracked.

“Why would I, Abaigeal?” Isabella was shocked.

“I brought you here and we’ve hardly spoken. You must feel more out of place here than I do.” Abaigeal slid off the rock and stood before Isabella.

Isabella tilted her friend’s head up and looked into her eyes. “Abaigeal, I came here of my own will.” Her voice was soft and reassuring. “Someone had to watch over you,” she quipped with a gentle smile. Abaigeal’s chuckle barely hid her pain.

“Then it’s just me. I don’t feel like I belong. Not anywhere.” The young fighter looked around. “This place is supposed to be my home, yet…it feels so foreign.” 

Isabella nodded. “You are a child of three realms yet you do not feel a part of any of them.” 

“I miss my friends,” Abaigeal said with a sniffle.

“I understand, Abaigeal.” Isabella’s embrace was chaste but comforting. “Those feelings will pass in time, and I’m sure you will see your friends again someday.” Isabella prayed she was right, and that the truce between Hibernia and Midgard would last for many years. Perhaps someday future generations would see the end to the conflict.

“But I sense there is more, Abaigeal.” Isabella watched the young woman force back a few tears. 

Abaigeal searched long and hard for the words before speaking. “It’s my father.” Isabella wondered what about her father could possibly be troubling her so. The Briton woman knew much, but could not answer everything. “Something he said at Benowyc Faste. I-I need to know more about what happened to him. It still doesn't make sense why he turned away from us after my mother’s death.” Abaigeal turned to her friend to see the older woman biting her lip. Isabella hesitated for a moment.

“Perhaps we should ask your uncle.”

◄●►

On a grassy hill beside the shore north of Connla, Abaigeal stood beside Isabella and her aunt and uncle as the sun dipped below the horizon. Liam had relayed the story of the Albion invasion and how he pulled the injured Keeley from the water after witnessing the destruction of the bridge over Shannon Estuary. He could not, however, tell Abaigeal what became of her father.

“No one in the village saw anything. Those who hadn’t made it through the portal to HyBrasil were hiding from the Albion onslaught,” Liam had explained.

“So no one knows what happened to my father?” Abaigeal’s hopes dropped.

“No one living,” Romana spoke after pondering the situation. 

Isabella furrowed her brow in confusion trying to decipher the woman’s accent. Isabella had formed a special kinship with Romana. Being women of similar age, the two got along very well, and it was Romana who encouraged the ex-cleric’s explorations into the bardic arts. Romana’s tone indicated to Isabella that there was more to her statement.

“What do you mean?” Isabella asked. 

“We will have to wait until nightfall,” Romana said turning to Abaigeal. “Then perhaps we may find answers.” Abaigeal was confused. If her aunt knew something why was she not saying? Why must she wait?

“Romana! Please!”

“Patience, Abaigeal. It is only a possibility. I beg you not to get your hopes up.”

Abaigeal was nervous for the rest of the day and her heart thumped in her chest when her aunt, uncle, and Isabella collected her for their journey. The tiny village that was their destination lay a small distance to the north of Connla along the beach. Romana and Liam tread carefully as the vagabonds in the area had grown in strength during the years of neglect. Abaigeal ignored their presence, concentrating on the small huts and lean-tos that appeared just over the hill. The village appeared to have been completely abandoned for years.

“I don’t understand…” Abaigeal began but was interrupted by her aunt.

“You will see.” As the sun disappeared below the ocean waves, the last rays of sunlight retreated, revealing a startling sight. A dozen ghostly forms appeared, wondering about the village in a macabre imitation of everyday life. Isabella jumped when she saw one of the phantoms look straight through her.

When darkness overtook the land completely the phantoms became more substantial and Abaigeal could see they were elfin. Terrified, Isabella clung to Abaigeal for reassurance. The Briton woman feared ghosts. The sight of the undead instilled more terror in Isabella than anything else she had ever encountered in her life. Isabella gripped a small, wooden crucifix that hung on a chain around her neck.

“Siabra,” Liam explained, “murdered by their own kin for turning their back on them and their evil ways. Now they are cursed to walk the earth as spirits.” One of nearby ghosts perked his ears upon hearing Liam speak. The Siabra ghost approached casually and eyed the intruders. Everyone retreated cautiously behind Liam and waited. After a few moments scrutiny, the man spoke in an echoing, whispery voice that grated on Isabella’s already frayed nerves.

“Liam? Is that you?”

“Aye, my friend.” Liam smiled sadly.

“It’s been ages! What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing, friend. Everything is fine now.” The ranger did not know how to tell the ghost that many years had passed. “Kellan, we must speak to Gaeth. Something important.” The ghost recognized the urgency in his living friend’s voice and nodded solemnly.

“This way then,” the ghost of Kellan the Siabra said motioning towards the large hut. Liam approached the structure; his three companions huddled close behind.

Inside the hut, Abaigeal saw three ghosts: two men, and a woman. The oldest ghost looked up to greet the guests, but his expression darkened upon seeing them.

“Chief Gaeth.” Liam bowed, the rest of the companions following suit. “It has been a long time, I know, but we wish to speak with you.”

“I had…” the ghost began sadly. “I had hoped you were my daughter. She has not visited us in a long time.” Liam’s eyes grew wet upon hearing Gaeth’s words.

“M’lord, many things have happened. Your daughter was prevented from visiting you.” The old man’s face brightened upon hearing the words.

“Then she is alive!” 

Liam hesitated. “I do not know M’lord.” Kaylee and her husband had escaped to HyBrasil with many of the defenders, but Liam did not know of her whereabouts since he and the others had taken refuge in Midgard. “My lord, something happened. Invaders swept across the land many years ago, and your daughter escaped. I do not know where she is now, but I swear to you that I will find her and let her know that her father misses her.” Gaeth’s face dropped, and a great sadness overtook the spirit.

“Thank you, my friend.” The old spirit’s eye’s returned to Liam’s and he tried his best to look calm. “Now what may I do for you and your friends in return?” Liam took a deep breath.

“Many years ago, a fire swept through the land.”

“Yes, I remember it. Your village was attacked.”

“Aye, along with the rest of our lands, M’lord. That night did you see what happened?” Chief Gaeth looked to the ghost of the woman beside him for a moment before turning back to Liam.

“No, I did not.” Abaigeal’s heart sank. “But one of us did,” he added, motioning for the woman to come to him. “Airmid, if you please?” The tall, elfin woman approached and stood next to Chief Gaeth. After looking at Liam for a moment, the two parted to reveal a small child behind them. The phantom of the young girl looked frightened and Liam did his best to calm the child.

“Hello, child,” the ranger spoke warmly, smiling. “Do you remember the night Connla was attacked?” The girl looked up at Airmid uncertainly.

“It is alright, Islene, you may tell him.” Abaigeal crouched beside her uncle and listened. The young girl turned back to the four living people in her hut and spoke with a frightened voice.

“That’s when the men in metal clothes came and all the people left.”

“Aye, that’s right. What did you see?”

“I heard loud noises. They got louder and I wanted to see.” Islene looked up at her mother. Airmid smiled and nodded. Turning back to Liam, the girl continued. “I didn’t want to get in trouble. I just wanted to see.”

“I understand, Islene. It’s alright, you may tell us.” Liam wanted to comfort the child, but his touch could not reach the realm of the dead; his hand would merely pass through the young girl and terrify her.

“It looked like the trees were on fire then I saw the bridge turn into flames. A man stood in front of the bridge trying to get to the other side.” Liam realized this must have been Eirik.

“Good, good. What happened to him?” Liam’s voice became urgent and Islene hesitated.

“A woman from the village started yelling at him. She attacked him.” Liam’s heart sank. The rest of the group was confused.

“Who attacked him?” Abaigeal asked. The ghost child recoiled slightly, held closely by her mother.

“The woman in blue.” Liam’s worst fears were now known to him to be true. “She was about to kill him when the others arrive.” 

Liam hung his head and sighed deeply. “What happened to the woman? Did you see?”

“She died.” Islene’s words were spoken with no emotion, but they bore heavily on Liam. Romana wrapped her arms around her husband.

“Thank you, Islene.” Liam turned back to the leader of the village. “Thank you, Gaeth. I promise you I will find your daughter.” The ranger turned and walked out of the hut, a near frantic Abaigeal in tow.

“What’s going on, uncle?! What happened?!” The young woman’s voice was quivering. “Who was this woman who attacked my father?!” Liam stopped and placed his hand on Abaigeal’s shoulders.

“Abbie, I’m sorry. She…the woman who attacked your father was your mother’s trainer,” he said, “and guardian.” Abaigeal was horrified.

“Ilisa?” Tears streamed from the young woman’s eyes.

“She never trusted your father,” Romana answered. “She must have blamed him for the invasion.” Abaigeal held her head in her hands and was shaking. “Abaigeal?”

“No, no, no, no! It can’t be!” the young woman cried. Romana tried to hold Abaigeal but she backed away.

“Abaigeal, please. We had no idea.” Romana’s heart was broken. She had no idea the news would affect her adopted daughter so strongly. 

“I just can’t accept this!” she cried in between sobs before running off into the darkness. Liam was about to run after her when Isabella stopped him.

“Please, let me talk to her.” Isabella pleaded with Liam who eventually conferred his permission with a nod. When Isabella disappeared after Abaigeal, Liam and Romana held each other in the darkness until starting the long walk back to Connla.

◄●►

Close to the village, Isabella found Abaigeal on a hill overlooking the whole of Shannon Estuary. Abaigeal sat beneath a tree staring towards the waters. As Isabella approached, she hoped for some sign from Abaigeal but she did not respond to Isabella’s presence. Isabella bit her lip and kneeled beside the weeping young woman.

“Abaigeal, I’m sorry. I cannot imagine how hard this must be.”

“I wish my father had never come here.”

“What do you mean?” Isabella asked, confused.

“Ilisa was right: my father did cause all of this, but he never knew it!”

“Abaigeal, I don’t understand…” Abaigeal looked up at the Briton woman, her eyes red and her cheeks tear-stained.

“J’nar, when he attacked me, I saw it all. Everything that he knew, _I_ knew.”

“What do you mean? How could he…?”

“J’nar died decades ago when a daemon possessed his body. When it tried to possess mine, all of its thoughts and all of its memories became known to me.” Isabella’s mind reeled with this revelation. “It used my father to find a way into Hibernia!” Abaigeal broke down, sobbing. Finally it all became clear to Isabella. It was Eirik’s association with the Shadows Guild that gave J’nar, or this daemon, insight on how to conquer Hibernia. Holding the young Abaigeal in her arms, Isabella tried to console her.

“If he had never come here,” Abaigeal continued, “none of this would have happened!” Isabella hushed her friend. She knew there was no use in lamenting the events that could not be changed. 

“Then you would never have existed,” Isabella said when Abaigeal had calmed down enough to listen. Isabella gently turned her young friend around and looked into her eyes where she saw a frightened child surrounded by an encroaching storm. Staring into Isabella’s deep green eyes washed away much of Abaigeal’s hysteria, but the grief remained. Caressing her cheek, Isabella spoke to Abaigeal softly.

“Abaigeal, we cannot escape our fate; we can only choose a path within it. J’nar would have found a way with or without your father. And were it not for you, the daemon that possessed him would still be alive today, and it would have conquered the Norse lands plunging the world into darkness.” Abaigeal sniffed, the last of her tears crawling down her cheeks.

“But all of this death…my mother…”

“Fate, Abaigeal! Your friends in Midgard are alive today because of your mother and father; because of _you_! Hibernia can rebuild, and with new allies! Fate brought you and your father together to defeat an impossible enemy.” Isabella bit her lip, in a nervous habit. _And fate brought you to me_, she thought.

“I just want to feel something; anything but this.” More tears flowed from Abaigeal’s eyes. Isabella could stop herself no longer and lifted Abaigeal’s face her own. Abaigeal’s cries and the vision of the little girl in the storm drew tears from Isabella’s eyes until they mingled with those on Abaigeal’s cheeks. Isabella pressed her forehead against Abaigeal’s for a moment before taking a deep breath and leaning in for a firm kiss.

Abaigeal did not care that it was another woman holding her, and returned the kiss with a burning passion. Closing her eyes, Abaigeal opened her mouth and slipped her tongue in between Isabella’s lips. Isabella was shocked and nearly fainted when she felt Abaigeal’s tongue bumping against her own. What Abaigeal lacked in sensuality, she made up for in raw passion. The poor Albion woman was so taken aback that she collapsed onto Abaigeal. 

Panting heavily through her nose, Isabella refused to relinquish the kiss for which she had waited so long. It was this kiss that had caused her to risk her life and escape her exile in Snowdonia. It was this kiss that caused her to travel across the land and enter J’nar’s fortress in search of Abaigeal and her father. It was this kiss that Isabella had dreamed of since before she became an acolyte.

Isabella wrapped her arms around the young woman beneath her and their lips finally parted. Looking deep into Abaigeal’s eyes she saw the child running from the storm, her arms outstretched. Shifting her focus, Isabella saw hesitation in Abaigeal’s expression. The older woman knew she had to proceed carefully.

“Abaigeal…” she began, but was cut off.

“Take me.” Isabella was overwhelmed by the young woman’s invitation.

“What did you…”

“Take me home, please.”


	2. Rapture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published December 13th, 2019

The walk to back to Connla was thankfully short, and soon Abaigeal was being ushered into Isabella’s small hut. The Briton was not even given the opportunity to light more than one candle before her younger mixed-blood companion grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. The few villagers who happen to be walking by saw the hut shake and some dirt settle around the base of the newcomer’s lodging. 

Again, Isabella was astounded by her lover’s passion. Abaigeal’s lips moved quickly all over the older woman’s face leaving wet marks along the way. Isabella knew they had to pace themselves, or her young lover would wear herself – and Isabella – out before the evening could begin.

Isabella tenderly placed a hand on Abaigeal’s hips and gently pushed her back, giving the pair some room to breathe and slowing things down. Abaigeal nearly panicked until she saw the devious smile on the woman’s face. With languorous delight, Isabella brushed her palm across Abaigeal’s check and slipped her thumb between her crimson lips.

The touch sent a chill throughout Abaigeal’s body. Taking a deep breath, the young woman closed her eyes and swirled her tongue around the digit before applying a gentle bite. Isabella sucked in her breath, and Abaigeal heaved a quivering sigh. Abaigeal could scarcely believe she was engaging in such acts with Isabella; a Cleric of Albion and a woman who was old enough to be her mother. And there were also the questions about Isabella’s relationship with her father. But Abaigeal’s passions were never to be denied. Shutting off all notions of opposition, Abaigeal placed her hands on her lover’s hips and continued sucking on the finger offered to her.

Isabella’s knees went weak. Eighteen years of chastity and almost complete self-denial had taken some toll on the woman’s sanity, but not her libido. Even the knowledge that Abaigeal was not even twenty summers old – barely a woman – could dissuade Isabella now. Isabella watched as Abaigeal’s lips parted and she ran her tongue up and down the length of Isabella’s finger. Abaigeal released the digit and rubbed her face against Isabella’s palm, a streak of her own saliva finding its way across her cheek. Abaigeal marveled at the softness of the older woman’s hand, while Isabella realized she had once again met her match and was losing control of herself.

Isabella guided her young lover to the mattress on the opposite side of her home. Stuffed with straw but covered with thick, soft linen, Isabella decided the cushion would make an adequate location for their consummation. She sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. Obediently, Abaigeal sat beside her and the two lovers fell into another kiss. This one lacked the raw, hurried passion from before, but Isabella saw to it that the kiss left Abaigeal breathless.

Isabella pushed her lover’s hands away and tilted her body, forcing Abaigeal to lean back and prop herself on her hands. Abaigeal’s hands were now occupied and Isabella was free to roam wherever she pleased. With her lips nipping gently at Abaigeal’s, Isabella traced her finger over her lover’s chin and across her neck until the exploring digits found Abaigeal ear lobe. Abaigeal gasped and squirmed. Her ears turned a deep crimson and were more sensitive than ever before. Isabella’s lips formed a tight seal around Abaigeal’s mouth as the young woman gasped for breath under the influence of the older woman’s soft hands. Isabella shivered as she thrilled to the feeling of her lover panting into her.

With Abaigeal distracted, it was easy for Isabella to undo a clasp on her tunic and slip her hand inside. Isabella marveled at what she found. It was obvious to anyone who had met Abaigeal that she was well endowed, but experiencing the young woman’s bosom first-hand was a tremendous treat. Isabella cupped the large breast, feeling its weight in her hand. When her fingers found the nipple, Isabella grinned. The woman’s deft fingers on the stiff protuberance elicited another gasp from Abaigeal. The young woman felt her lover pluck at her nipple. Gently at first, but soon her manipulations bordered on pain.

Abaigeal did not care. Every kiss, every stroke, and every hot breath on her face was like a shock that led right to between her legs. Soon, the young woman could not take it anymore. Forgetting how far she was from the wall, Abaigeal pulled her hands out from under her to remove some – any! – article of clothing, only to fall back and lightly smack her head on the wall of the hut. With a pout, Abaigeal looked up to see Isabella giggling. Trying to even the score, Abaigeal reached for Isabella’s leggings, but the older woman gently held her by the wrists. Hushing her lover, Isabella spoke the first words heard in a long time.

“Slowly. Let me take care of you, Abbie.” Abaigeal’s heart was thumping loudly. She did not know what she felt for this woman. If her uncertainty registered on her face, Isabella did not notice. Instead, Isabella gently pushed Abaigeal onto her back and, one by one, began popping the remaining clasps on her tunic. 

Abaigeal wore armor of a curious hybrid of Celt and Midgardian craftsmanship, however clasps were clasps and proved no match for Isabella’s dexterous fingers. When every one of them had been undone, Isabella pushed the tunic open revealing Abaigeal’s full bosom. Isabella traced a finger between the young woman’s breasts with a playful smirk. Abaigeal could only watch. The finger continued further down over Abaigeal’s navel and hooked into the waist of her leggings. 

Staring at Abaigeal’s navel, Isabella paused. Abaigeal watched as the older woman’s expression took on a faraway gaze as if lost in thought. After several breaths, Isabella look up.

“May I?” Isabella’s voice was soft, reassuring – a hint of uncertainty – but always like music on Abaigeal’s ears.

“Y-yes,” the poor girl stammered, but with an enthusiastic nod. Isabella smiled warmly and leaned down for a kiss. Abaigeal lay below the woman passively, her hands idle. Soon she lay completely naked before Isabella.

Abaigeal licked her lips, her breath aquiver. Although she was no stranger to sex, Abaigeal was in unfamiliar territory with a woman. Even the intimacy she shared with her childhood friend Katzch had been so very different. With Katzch their secretive trysts were more playful, explorative. Katzch was a female Valkyn – a cat-like race from the island of Aegir in Midgard – which made their relationship even more exotic. The two girls had grown up together and began their sexual relationship at a young age and were not entirely sure of what they were doing.

However Isabella seemed to know _exactly_ what she was doing, or at least knew what she wanted. Isabella curled up beside Abaigeal, slowly pushed the young woman’s tunic completely off and took a moment to admire the naked beauty.

Clothed, Abaigeal was stunning, but her beauty knew no bounds when unfettered by garments. The young woman’s frame was small like Isabella’s but where the Briton maintained a modest layer of what she euphemistically liked to call “baby fat”, Abaigeal was lean and more muscular. This tight image was offset, however, by her ample breasts. Though not obscenely large, Abaigeal’s bosom dwarfed that of Isabella’s. Abaigeal blushed when she realized the woman above her was staring and tried hide her chest beneath her arms.

Isabella closed her mouth when she realized she was staring and gently pushed Abaigeal’s arms back revealing the young woman’s breasts once again. Isabella did her best to make Abaigeal comfortable with her body and decided that there would be more time to admire her later. Still fully clothed, Isabella crawled on top of her young lover and kissed her. Abaigeal felt Isabella’s light leather tunic rub across her skin creating tingles all over her body. Isabella noticed the response and continued to sway back and forth, letting herself brush across Abaigeal’s sensitive skin. Abaigeal’s gasps soon turned to whimpers through the kiss. Isabella finally stopped, not wanting to torment the poor girl. She decided that Abaigeal was ready.

With confidence, Isabella kissed her way down from Abaigeal’s lips, across her chin and down her neck. Reaching the sensitive area, the older woman alternately brushed her lips and traced her tongue across the young woman’s neck and collarbone. Abaigeal shivered, goose bumps forming on her legs and arms. Satisfied with the response, Isabella rolled off her lover and enveloped her in her arms.

Abaigeal felt warm and safe for the first time since coming to Hibernia. Looking at the woman holding her, she saw love radiating from Isabella’s intense green eyes. Abaigeal did not have time to contemplate her own feelings as a soft, warm hand brushed passed her navel and slipped between her thighs. Abaigeal closed her eyes and allowed the hand to spread her legs apart. Isabella’s touch remained gentle and unhurried, but Abaigeal sensed urgency in the woman; Isabella was not without needs herself.

Gently massaging Abaigeal’s inner thigh, Isabella found the curls between her legs, matted with the dew that confirmed Abaigeal’s rising passion. Abaigeal sighed as Isabella gently massaged her sex; the older woman’s palm pressing firmly against her vulva. The action served to slowly fire Abaigeal’s passion until Isabella slipped a finger between the puffy wet lips. 

Abaigeal gasped and her lover kissed her on the forehead.

“Relax, Abbie.” Isabella cooed softly as she kissed Abaigeal across her cheeks and nose leaving wet marks on her lover’s skin. She wanted Abaigeal’s first experience with her to be as intense as her feelings for the young woman. Abaigeal wrapped one arm around her lover and gripped the sheets with her free hand. Isabella’s motions were slow, but steady. Her fingers slid along Abaigeal’s sex lazily for many breaths before stroking the sensitive bud at the top. Abaigeal had touched herself this way many times in her life, but had avoided direct contact with her clitoris. The intensity of such stimulation had frightened her.

Despite her years in the Church, Isabella was no stranger to pleasures of the flesh, or a woman’s body. Isabella knew all too well that one does not go “leaping straight for the clitoris like a bull at a gate.”

Cupping Abaigeal’s mound with a firm grip, Isabella ran her fingers through the course hair and over the silky folds which were becoming wetter with each breath. On each upstroke, Isabella paused and gave Abaigeal’s clitoris several meaningful strokes before continuing. The sensations were exhilarating, but not overstimulating to the young woman. Abaigeal moaned. Isabella’s skillful fingers were electrifying, but Abaigeal desired more.

Isabella was not about to let her lover suffer for long. Gently sliding one finger into the slick tunnel below – then two – Isabella explored the path to her lover’s womb. Every woman was different, and discovering what set Abaigeal’s loins afire was Isabella’s goal.

Abaigeal squirmed under the ministrations. The full feeling of the woman’s fingers inside her was exquisite, but she arched her back in a desperate attempt to garner more contact with her clitoris. Isabella heard Abaigeal’s silent plea and decided to end her torment.

Slipping her thumb into the gushing tunnel, Isabella used the now glistening digit to spread the juices all around the lips of Abaigeal’s sex. Isabella returned two fingers inside Abaigeal who thrust against Isabella’s hand, desperate to feel them deep inside her.

Abaigeal began whimpering until she felt the woman’s thumb circling her clitoris. Immediately she pressed her face into the crook of her lover’s neck, panting deeply. The fingers inside her touched places Abaigeal never knew existed while Isabella worked her thumb mercilessly over the wet bud of her sex.

Isabella delighted in the effect she was having on her lover. After a slow build, the woman could feel Abaigeal’s skin grow warm and sticky with sweat. Soon Abaigeal was making tiny yelping sounds with each stroke of the older woman’s finger’s. Abaigeal was being taken to a place she wished never to leave. With alarming abruptness, Abaigeal’s climax slammed into her like a charging horse. Isabella held her lover close and muffled her cries with her lips – Abaigeal’s hot breath blowing on the woman’s face.

Isabella cupped Abaigeal’s mound, gently massaging, bringing her down slowly. Abaigeal’s breathing was returning to normal and – with one more stroke of Abaigeal’s clitoris – Isabella removed her fingers from the young woman’s sex. The room was filled with the sound of Abaigeal’s heavy breathing as she lay on the bed, eyes closed – her body gently relaxing while her senses returned to normal. After what felt like an eternity, Abaigeal opened her eyes and saw the adoring look on Isabella’s face. She had never felt emotions as intense as this – not even with Rayne.

Her feelings frightened her.

The exhaustion of the day’s events – and that of what seemed like her entire life – had taken their toll on Abaigeal. Releasing a pent-up sigh, Abaigeal curled up against Isabella and closed her eyes all while clutching the still-clothed woman tightly.

Isabella held Abaigeal in her arms. For many breaths, she ran her fingers through her lover’s hair and explored the soft skin of her face. Tracing a path over the young woman’s nose, her fingers paused at the light scar on her left cheek. Isabella frowned. The physical wound had healed, but scar was a reminder that the loss Abaigeal had suffered was still fresh.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll make it better, I promise.” Isabella squeezed Abaigeal tightly, but the half-Celt’s breathing had already turned into a gentle snore. Isabella chuckled. She had hoped for more, but could not have been happier. With a sigh that held only a trace of frustration, Isabella leaned down for a kiss. 

“There’s always tomorrow,” she whispered into Abaigeal’s ear before disrobing and curling up under a blanket with her.

◄●►

A light breeze blew through the open window and into Isabella’s hut, causing the shudders to bang lightly against the wall. It was still dark outside and the summer’s early morning sunrise struggled to break through the clouds hanging over Connla. Isabella stirred, thankful for the gentle wake up. The summer night had been warm and sticky, but Isabella – who had kicked off most of her clothes during the night – now pulled the blanket tightly around her body to stave off the chill brought on by the breeze.

The Briton woman inhaled deeply, smelling the heady aroma that her and her companion’s lovemaking had left behind. Isabella smiled and reached for Abaigeal only to find the other half of the bed empty. Opening her eyes, Isabella saw her young friend quietly getting dressed and reaching for the door. Isabella panicked and sat up, startling Abaigeal. The two women locked eyes, both terrified.

“Abaigeal, wh-what’s…” Isabella stuttered and swallowed hard. “Where are you going?” Abaigeal’s heart leapt to her throat. She did not know how to answer.

“I-I’m sorry, m’lady. I should go. I’m sorry.” And before Isabella could stop her, Abaigeal rushed out the door. 

“Oh God.” Isabella covered her mouth to muffle the words and nearly broke down. _No_, she said to herself. She was not going to allow this. She had to talk to Abaigeal. With all the haste she could muster, Isabella threw on a gossamer robe and bolted for the door, calling to her young lover. “Abaigeal! Wait! I…” Isabella froze in her steps when she opened the door. A few yards from her hut stood Romana looking somewhat confused. The blonde Celt watched Abaigeal disappear towards her own hut then turned to the half-naked Briton from whose hut the girl had burst. Scrutinizing Isabella for a moment, the woman’s expression softened.

“Is everything alright, Isabella?” 

The color drained from Isabella’s face and she suppressed the urge to vomit. _Everything was not alright. Everything was all wrong!_ she thought. Isabella clutched her robe tighter, trying to conceal her nakedness.

“I-I-I…” she sputtered. No matter how hard she tried, Isabella could not calm down; her whole world was crashing down around her. Taking a deep breath, Isabella looked at Romana. The Celt woman was an icon of strength and stability…and her only friend in Hibernia. A tear rolled down Isabella’s cheek. 

Romana placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and Isabella immediately felt the fear wash away. The woman’s smile made it clear that she understood.

“Could you…” Isabella managed to squeak out in a whisper.

“I’ll speak with her, Isabella. Do not worry.”

◄●►

Abaigeal froze when she heard the knock at her door.

“Abaigeal?” her aunt called. “May I come in?” Abaigeal breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Aye, come in.” 

Romana let herself in and found her adopted daughter sitting on her bed, clutching her stomach. Romana remembered a scene quite like this nearly twenty summers ago. She knew the situation to be a little different, but all the emotions were still there. Romana could not hope to understand everything that Abaigeal was feeling, but she wanted to be there for her.

“Lady Isabella seemed rather upset. Would you like to talk about it, Abaigeal?” Romana sat beside the girl she had raised since birth and draped her arm about her shoulders. Abaigeal had grown up fast and was well past the point of being a child, but Romana knew she had much more maturing to do. Abaigeal wiped a few tears from her eyes and looked at her aunt. She had no idea where to begin.

“L-Last night,” Abaigeal took a deep breath before continuing, “we were together.” The young woman looked up at Romana to see no disappointment or accusation in her eyes. It was too much for Abaigeal who burst into tears. “Oh, Romana, I’m so confused!” Romana cradled the girl’s head and hushed her, waiting for the sobbing to subside.

“There is nothing wrong, Abaigeal.”

“But in Midgard, it is forbidden. Except among the Valkyrie, but that is just a rumor.”

“You’re not in Midgard anymore, child.” Romana smiled; her eyes soft and reassuring. “Here in Hibernia – your home – your feelings are perfectly natural, and accepted.” Abaigeal was astounded. Romana chuckled softly seeing the look on Abaigeal’s face. “These feelings – dare I call it love – you hold for someone are special, and do not depend on who the recipient is.” 

“I think I’ve had these feelings before,” Abaigeal said after a moment of hesitation. Romana nodded.

“You forget that I watched you grow up, Abaigeal. I know how close you and Katzch were. I never wanted to say anything; I wanted you to explore without the interference of others. Love is something you should cherish, even if it is for another woman.

“Granted it is more common among the elves,” Romana continued, brushing the hair from Abaigeal’s eyes, “which is why it is often referred to as ‘Elf Love.’ There is even a binding ceremony for those who wish to announce their love to the community.” Abaigeal could hardly believe her ears.

“Aye, Abaigeal. Our home is a land of acceptance. This is why your father came here. And also why Lady Isabella came as well, I imagine.” Abaigeal gasped. She had forgotten about Isabella.

“Oh no!”

“Aye.” Romana nodded. “Things are very different in Albion. Isabella would have been killed had she revealed feelings of this kind.” Abaigeal’s heart sank upon the realization of what she had done.

“I ran from her,” Abaigeal said, looking up at her aunt. Romana nodded and got up.

“She came here at great risk. I don’t know for what she was looking, but it was – and is – very important to her. Perhaps you should be talking to _her_, Abaigeal.” Romana walked to the door of Abaigeal’s hut, but stopped as she placed her hand on the latch. Turning around she smiled at her adopted daughter. “Oh, and by the way, what you’ve heard about the Valkyries…”

“Aye?” Abaigeal furrowed her brow.

“Not a rumor,” her aunt said with a mischievous wink. 

Romana opened the door to find Isabella standing in the courtyard staring at Abaigeal’s hut. Leaving the door open, Romana approached the Briton woman who looked like the weight of the realms was on her shoulders.

“I think it’s safe to go in,” Romana said, giving the woman a friendly smile. After watching the blonde Celt leave, Isabella hesitantly approached the open door to Abaigeal’s abode. Inside the hut, Isabella could see the young woman getting up and fidgeting.

“Abaigeal? I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Isabella was at a loss for words, but when the young girl before her responded with a weak smile, she assumed it was safe to enter.

“Could you close the door?” Abaigeal asked. A little confused, Isabella pointed to the door questioningly before pushing it closed and latching it behind her. Abaigeal took two tentative steps towards the woman as she attempted to put her feelings in order one last time…

And leapt onto Isabella. 

Isabella was taken completely by surprise, but not altogether displeased by the attack. Abaigeal held onto her lover tightly as she kissed the woman with more passion than ever. The young girl felt that if this was who she really was, she was going to embrace it fully. 

Isabella was also enjoying the embrace, but this was not how she had planned on discussing their relationship. She was losing herself in the sensations when her conscience began nagging at her. Isabella reluctantly broke the kiss and caught her breath.

“Abbie, wait. We must…” Confused by the woman’s behavior, Abaigeal stepped back. “I came to apologize.” Abaigeal was mortified and blushed a deep red. Did Isabella no longer want her? Isabella recognized the girl’s hurt look and immediately tried to salvage the situation.

“Words first,” the older woman said with a finger to Abaigeal’s lips. “Bodies later.” Isabella smiled warmly indicating that she did indeed want a replay the previous night’s activities.

“You needn’t apologize, m’lady.” Isabella cut the girl off, covering Abaigeal’s mouth with the palm of her hand.

“Abbie, first off: don’t be so formal. Please call me Isabella, or Izzie, or whatever you like. Just not _m’lady_. And, aye, I do need to apologize. I should not have taken advantage of you in such a state. I allowed my feelings to govern my actions. But I assure you, Abbie, my feelings for you are true, and I do not regret what we did last night.” Isabella sighed and held the young woman at arm’s length.

“Do you know why you ran from me?” Isabella continued. Abaigeal shook her head. “Well I do,” Isabella said softly. “And I think you do, too.”

“I was scared,” Abaigeal admitted.

“Why was that?” the older woman asked thoughtfully.

“I-I had never done that before.” Abaigeal silently appended _at least not with a woman._ She decided that it was best to deal with one issue at a time.

“Never?” Isabella was somewhat surprised, but secretly pleased and honored. “Not even during your relationship with your Valkyn friend?” 

Abaigeal shook her head. “That was different. Katzch and I are friends. We…we…” Abaigeal pondered for a moment. She was having a difficult time defining her relationship with Katzch. They had grown up together and there was a certain intimacy that existed between the two of them, but it was on a much different level and served to make their friendship stronger. Abaigeal finally looked up to see a knowing look on Isabella’s face – that look older folk seemed to always bestow upon her.

“Exactly, Abaigeal. Love is strengthened by friendship. Love need not lead to pleasures of the flesh, but when it does, the familiarity can only serve to make it stronger.” 

“I…I think I understand.” Abaigeal clutched her shoulders and stared at the floor for a moment. “No. Actually…I don’t understand.”

“The problem is that you know so little of me.”

“I know you were my father’s lover,” Abaigeal responded hesitantly. Isabella was taken aback but realized there was no accusation in the statement.

“It was more than that, Abbie.” Isabella pulled Abaigeal down by the hand to a large comfy cushion on the floor. “Perhaps I should tell you more about myself.”

**◄●⌛●►**


	3. Acrimony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published January 3rd, 2020

_Twenty-four years ago, just over three decades since the death of King Arthur…_

“Have you taken complete leave of your senses?” 

Ramelik rolled his eyes at the question and turned to the muscular fighter who asked it. The short Briton Friar stared at his friend for a moment before he realized that the Highlander did indeed want an answer. Ramelik had expected this sort of response from Eirik. The two young men stopped dead on the path to the small town of Ludlow, their intermediate destination, and began yet another one of their classic arguments. 

“Trust me, mate. She is quite capable of taking care of herself and the rest of us.”

“_She?_” The Highlander was flabbergasted. “First you tell me you’ve found us not a cleric but a mere _acolyte_, and now you say she’s one of your ‘girls?’ You’ve outdone yourself this time, my friend.” 

Ramelik threw up his hands. “It’s not like that at all,” the friar laughed. “She’s not a conquest of mine. She’s not even my type.”

“Didn’t know ye needed a type, Rame.” Eirik appeared to relax a little and began teasing his friend. Ramelik narrowed his eyes at the man and leaned on his quarterstaff.

“Shall we continue? I’d like to get there before I grow old,” the friar said motioning towards the town – which was not half a furlong down the path. “Besides, this is her last year as an acolyte and I’ve been asked to help her out a bit. She’s good. I saw her not three moons ago. Very impressed I was.” 

“Punishment for the ‘Blue Nun’ incident?” 

“Haw-haw,” the friar laughed sarcastically. “I _volunteered_ to help her. And just for the record Elizabeth wasn’t a nun yet.” Eirik grinned and scoffed at the friar’s protests and the two of them continued down the dusty path. “Don’t tell me you’re taking on this mercenary ideology fully? If compensation is an issue…” 

“It’s not,” Eirik said flatly. Satisfied, Ramelik nodded. The two walked in silence for many steps until Ramelik broke the tension.

“Eirik, do you remember the first time we met?”

“At _The Mad Lum_?”

“Aye. You were arguing with the barkeep.”

Eirik chuckled. “That was many seasons ago.”

“I believe it was about… what was it?” A broad smile crossed Ramelik’s face before he answered his own question. “A dress?”

“Kilt.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s a very important distinction.”

“Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is that you need to be more accommodating. Take a chance. Don’t let a simple disagreement over semin-, samani-…”

“Semantics.”

“…_words_ get you in trouble again.”

Eirik heaved an annoyed sigh, but could not help but smile. The highlander slapped his friend on the shoulder and laughed. 

As the two men approached the edge of the town, Eirik saw a large group of people; some of whom he recognized, most he did not. The crowd listened intently as an older man, the Shire Reeve, rambled furiously. Ramelik approached the gathering and greeted the other members of their party: two dark-skinned Saracens – a man and a woman holding hands – and a tall thin Avalonian mage.

“Hail, friends! You remember, Eirik, aye?” 

The Saracen couple smiled and leaned to the side to get a better look at the Highlander Mercenary. “Of course. How are you, Eirik? Been a long time.” The woman’s voice had a hint of a chill, but Eirik had come to expect that from anyone who knew of his past. The two Saracen Rogues were both members of the Defender’s Guild.

“Well met, Isra. Suhaym.” Eirik returned the greeting with slightly more warmth and clasped their hands. “Congratulations, by the way,” he added regarding their recent nuptials. However Eirik was becoming impatient and ignored the Theurgist – the other member of their group. “So where is this fine acolyte that we’ve been saddled with? We should fetch her soon. I suppose I’ll be the one protecting her, cutting her meat, changing her nappy, wiping her ar…” 

All through Eirik’s diatribe, Ramelik had been shaking his head wildly and gesturing, but it was too late. 

“…nose. Oh bugger, she’s behind me isn’t she?” The Highlander sighed as he tried to hide his embarrassment.

“No. In front of you,” came a delicate, yet annoyed, voice. Eirik was stunned by what he saw. Emerging from the crowd was a young, cherub-face girl. She placed her hands on her hips and examined Eirik closely. Her tone betrayed her anger regarding his comments, but the wry grin curling her lips told him that she was more resilient than that. The two adventurers sized each other up in silence.

The Briton girl was clad in slightly worn studded leather armor that Eirik suspected was given to her by an older acolyte who had graduated to something sturdier. She was short and probably had another inch or two to grow, but it was her face that entranced the Highlander.

Framed by light brown hair tied back in a chignon and with a little baby fat on her cheeks, the girl’s face reminded Eirik of the angels he had once seen in an illuminated manuscript. Most folk would correctly guess the girl’s age based on her innocent looks and unblemished skin, but anyone who saw her eyes would mistake her for much older. The girl’s piercing green eyes seemed to look right into Eirik’s soul. After a light chuckle from the Saracens, Ramelik cleared his throat and ended the amusing silence.

“Isabella, this is Eirik. Eirik, Isabella.”

“Pleasure,” Isabella greeted in a thick country accent as she extended her hand, her smirk never fading for a second.

“Pleasure to finally meet thee, my lady.” Eirik shook off the initial shock and clasped the girl’s hand and bowed. Isabella’s smile broadened.

“So he _can_ be trained,” Isra – the female Saracen – quipped, garnering an annoyed look from the Highlander. The group’s meeting was then cut short by an announcement by the town’s Reeve.

“Gundron McCory and the Wynedd’s must be stopped!” The adventurers turned their attention back to the nearby crowd. “Fifty gold is promised to those who can bring their villainous band to justice; dead or alive!” Eirik raised his brow in astonishment while Ramelik counted on his fingers in a vain attempt to calculate how much fifty gold would be divided amongst the six of them.

“A tidy sum,” Eirik said with a heavy sigh.

“Does anyone know where they can be found?” Isabella asked.

“The hills to the north, dearie,” Isra answered as she checked her bow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.” The young acolyte frowned. Eirik saw the despondent look in the girl’s eyes.

“Does the gold mean that much to you, Izzie?” Eirik asked. Isabella pursed her lips. No one had called her that since she had left home nearly two summers ago. Eirik’s use of her family’s pet name annoyed her more than a little, but also made her homesick. However, his accusation nearly earned Eirik a buckler upside the head.

“I don’t need a lesson in greed from a mercenary. I have a vested interest in the safety of this town, sir.” Isabella spoke the last word with a slight degree of sarcasm, enough to let Eirik know the limits of their relationship.

“My apologies,” Eirik replied sincerely. Isabella paused for a moment, sizing the man up again before she continued.

“I was charged by the Church to investigate problems north of Ludlow. Bringing a quick end to these people would help the Church, and the town,” the young acolyte proclaimed confidently. 

Eirik nodded. _Pride perhaps?_ he thought to himself with a smile. Motioning for his comrades to follow, Eirik led them out of earshot of the crowd. “I have a cunning plan,” he told them while trying to maintain a straight face.

◄●►

“Are you certain this is the way?” Isabella asked while ducking under a low-hanging branch. It had been almost a fortnight since the six adventurers had left Ludlow. After many nights sleeping under the stars Isabella was beginning to miss the meager housing the Church provided its trainees. The young acolyte’s protests had grown steadily in frequency and volume and those in the group that had not grown tired of her complaints were beginning to sympathize. Everyone, that is, except Eirik.

Eirik did not seem to mind Isabella’s complaints. In fact, the sound of her voice was becoming a welcome distraction. Lately his mind had been occupied by recent events in his life and a young woman’s presence – especially one with such a beautiful voice – was just what he needed to calm his nerves.

Since their first encounter Isabella also felt herself warming to the mercenary. He did not act in a manner she had come to expect from a hired blade. Not only was Eirik warm and chivalrous towards her – a trait she had originally thought was in apology for his initial comments – but also towards the rest of his companions.

Isabella was suddenly torn from her thoughts when Eirik grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground. The young acolyte squeaked in distress but looked up in time to see a tree trunk cut the air where her head had been not a breath before. The enormous tree trunk swung across the path and lodged itself into a nearby tree; the spikes that were fastened to it pierced the tree by several inches. Isabella’s heart beat loudly in her chest as she tried to calm down from the near miss, but there was no time for rest.

An angry cry cut through the dawn as a short, bearded man charged at the group with an axe.

“Dwarf!” Ramelik alerted and took a swing at the stubby creature. The dwarf ducked the attack and came around for another swing at the friar, but Eirik intercepted the attack with both swords. The dwarven assassin sneered and set his sights on the mercenary. Eirik was outmatched, and he knew it, but before the dwarf could swing, Suhaym blindsided him with his shield.

The dwarf froze for a second before his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell to the ground with a thud. The entire group was still recovering from the rush of battle for several moments as they watched the stunned dwarf for signs of movement. Eventually Eirik gave the little man a nudge with his boot, looked up at Isabella and smiled.

“Quite certain now.” Eirik turned to the scouts. “Keep a watchful eye out; we are getting close.” Eirik looked back down at the trembling acolyte and held out his hand. Isabella looked at the gesture uncertainly for a moment then accepted the help up.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Miss Isabella.”

“No, I meant for,” Isabella paused, not sure how to proceed. “I mean for saving me.”

“I know,” Eirik replied with a warm smile. Isabella watched the man turn and follow Suhaym. With the other scout behind her, she quickly caught up with her protector and watched him carefully, despite the risk of more traps. 

Eirik fidgeted with his armor uncomfortably as the adventurers marched on. The black chain mail seemed new, which struck Isabella as odd. Ramelik noticed the Highlander’s discomfort as well as his movements during the fight.

“Miss your plate armor?” the friar whispered, but Isabella overheard none-the-less.

“Not really,” Eirik replied. “But this armor feels an ill fit all the same.” 

Ramelik patted his friend on the shoulder. “Ye’ll get used it, mate.” With that the friar bounded ahead to speak with the group’s theurgist.

_Plate?_ Isabella thought. She was intrigued. Neither Eirik nor anyone else in the group had mentioned anything about him being a Defender. Isabella wanted to ask Eirik herself, but the implications of someone leaving the Defenders of Albion and joining the Guild of Shadows were truly frightening.

◄●►

“This is not going to be easy.”

“Nonsense,” Isra scoffed. “My husband and I have gotten through tougher battles than this.” 

Ramelik carefully returned the branch to its original position and turned to the bragging Saracen woman. The McCory camp was right where Eirik said it would be, and it was well defended. The six adventurers had found the brigands, but the question of what to do next remained unanswered.

“Aye, and did any of those battles include bolts of fire, Isra?” Ramelik motioned towards the center of the camp.

“What?” The woman’s surprise was evident.

“Oh bugger.” Eirik pointed to the woman with the copper-colored hair near the campfire. If her ornate staff did not reveal her profession, then the prismatic glow of her magical protective shield most certainly did.

“Bugger? What ‘oh bugger?’ No one said anything about a bugger?” Isabella was nearly frantic.

“Glithiel, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Suhaym told the group’s theurgist.

“I can hold her in place, but she can still kill us standing still!”

“Just,” Eirik interrupted, “keep her busy.”

“So be it, but my icelings are not going to last long against this group,” Glithiel protested. Isra had just about had enough of the Avalonian’s whining. Grabbing him by the collar, the woman pulled him in close.

“Then send in a whole mess of ‘em. All of ‘em if ye have to!” the Saracen hissed. Glithiel grumbled and was released. The group turned their attention back to the camp, and watched the inhabitants’ movements.

“When should we attack?” Isabella was shaking. Eirik pointed to a trio of young bullyboys patrolling the camp. 

“Stick close to me,” the mercenary said turning to the acolyte. A few agonizing moments later, as the patrol neared the companions’ hiding place, Eirik yelled. “Now!”

Eirik leaped from the bush swinging his swords and caught two of the bandits by surprise. The third drew his rapier and lunged at him, but Ramelik’s staff clipped the side of his head sending him to the ground.

The alarm cry set the entire camp into motion and a dozen fighters charged on the defenders from Ludlow. Glithiel upheld his duty and sent a swarm of ice minions measuring no taller than two feet after the copper-haired woman before she could cast a single spell. This left the rest of the group free to take down the others.

The Saracens worked their bows in tandem felling five of the weaker bandits, but before they could nock another arrow, a heavily armed Highlander was upon them. Gundron McCory brought his great sword down upon the female archer first but the blow was deflected by her husband who had already stowed his bow in favor of his rapier and shield.

More and more of the camp joined the concentrated battle and soon the companions where split into two groups. The Saracens found themselves busy fighting the bandit leader and two of his henchmen, while Eirik and Ramelik were left to defend Isabella and the theurgist against the major onslaught. It was not turning into the best scenario for the companions.

An older, more seasoned cutthroat swung at Eirik as he engaged two other fighters. The Highlander dodged the blow and turned to parry another with his left sword. Isabella watched in horror as the third fighter swung at Eirik who saw the attack coming too late. The rusty sword cut across the Highlander’s chain and found a weak seam in his right shoulder. Eirik shouted in surprise but the wound was minor. 

In retaliation for the hit, Eirik swung at the bullyboy with the hilt of his left sword smashing his nose. Dropping his weapon, the bandit screamed and clutched his face giving Eirik time to block more blows from the other two. With a moment’s respite, Isabella saw blood trickle from the mercenary’s shoulder and gasped.

On instinct, Isabella began the spell that would heal the mercenary’s wound; however Ramelik – who was more seasoned – heard the spell and shouted.

“No, don’t!” the friar warned, but it was too lake. Isabella released the spell and Eirik immediately felt the tell-tale tingle of the cut in his shoulder mending. The mercenary looked at the wound then to Isabella, and then several other pairs of eyes fell on the acolyte.

“Get their healer!” one of the bandits shouted. Isabella gasped and stepped back. Eirik cursed under his breath and charged back to where Isabella was standing. It was going to be close. Two bandits closed in on the acolyte; one with his rapier poised to strike, but Eirik intercepted the blade with his own at the last second. Outnumbered, Eirik engaged the two bandits and fought to a stalemate until Ramelik arrive and thrust his staff into one of the attacking bandits crushing his chest. Realizing his predicament, the second bandit attempted to escape only to get hamstrung by Eirik’s blades.

“Are you alright?” Ramelik asked Isabella. The young woman gulped.

“Aye,” Isabella panted. “Sorry.” Eirik scoffed and turned back to the battle. The theurgist Glithiel joined them.

Across the field the companions witnessed the two archers subduing the last of the bandits. Gundron McCory lay dead beside them, and another man the party did not recognize was alive but bound and laying on the ground. 

Their campaign appeared to be a success until Eirik made an observation.

“Where’s the mage?”

Suddenly, a woman leapt from the bushes and grabbed Isabella. The young acolyte screamed until she felt a dagger at her throat. The rest of her companions turned around brandishing their weapons. Safe behind her human shield, Bouditha Wynedd sneered at them.

“Don’t any of you feckless halfwits move!” she warned. Glithiel raised his staff slightly and the woman glared at him. “Utter a single syllable, mage, and she’s dead!”

Everyone looked to each other for guidance. 

“Oh you are a pretty one, lass. Let’s have a look at you.” Pulling Isabella by the hair, the woman looked into her eyes and grinned. “Now release my cousin,” she said indicating the bound man behind them. The group hesitated. “Do it!”

Eirik nodded and the Saracens untied the man but kept their bows trained on him as he approached his wife.

“What luck, Aldous, this one’s a virgin,” Bouditha called. Isabella could not help emit a tiny whimper.

“Izzie?” Eirik addressed the acolyte as he cautiously sheathed one of his blades.

“Shut up!” Bouditha shouted. Isabella locked eyes with her friend. Eirik spoke his next words slowly as he reached for a pouch on his belt.

“The Angelus Bell has rung.” Bouditha scoffed but Isabella’s mind raced searching for meaning in his words. And suddenly it dawned on her.

Isabella clenched her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Eirik immediately hurled the contents of the pouch towards Isabella and her captor. Bouditha Wynedd dropped her dagger, screaming in pain as the powder burned her eyes and Isabella wriggled from her grasp. The rest of the companions sprang into action. Ramelik clubbed Bouditha across the temple and Aldous had two arrows in his back. It was over in a heartbeat.

Isabella carefully opened her eyes to see the Saracen woman and her husband racing to her aid.

“Are ye alright, dearie?” Isra asked as she wiped away the small amount of the caustic dust that had gotten on Isabella’s cheeks.

“A-Aye,” Isabella replied between deep breaths. 

While the friar busied himself with their prisoner, the rest of Isabella’s companions waited in silence to make sure she was unharmed. Looking around, she could scarcely believe the carnage. Over a dozen bandits – men and women – lay dead. Her first battle was not quite what she had expected. Isabella was not really sure what she had expected. After binding the unconscious Bouditha, Ramelik joined his companions.

“Well, that wasn’t such a chore, now was it?” Ramelik exclaimed. 

Isabella turned from the friar to Eirik who smiled reassuringly at her. The young acolyte clutched her knees to her chin and managed a weak smile back.


	4. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published January 17th, 2020

Flush with gold, the six companions retired to a noisy tavern at the heart of the city of Camelot to celebrate their victory. Even Isabella overcame the traumatic experience of her first real battle to join in the festivities. The group found a comfy booth against a wall of the _Scrapwood Tavern_. The two Saracens questioned the spending of so much coin on such an expensive inn when the drinks at any other tavern would be sufficient in getting them all plenty drunk. However, Eirik insisted they indulge in a little luxury after nearly three weeks in the wilderness, and Ramelik had already started drinking the _Scrapwood’s_ ale.

Isabella was just happy to be back in the city.

“And that’s why you _never_…hang on,” Ramelik paused to imbibe his fifth tankard. Isabella and Eirik waited with baited breath for the friar to finish his story.

Eirik chuckled. “Out with it, man!” the impatient mercenary demanded. Ramelik held up a finger as he downed the last of his ale.

“_Always_ wait until you know the fight is won before you toss your heals.” The Battle Friar concluded his lesson with a loud belch and left the group for the bar once again. 

“Or failing that,” Eirik added, “a knee to the groin should dissuade most attackers who take an interest in your healer.”

Isabella laughed despite knowing it was her neophyte mistake that nearly cost the group the battle – and her life. The young acolyte nursed her mug of mead and observed the members of her new group.

Ramelik was sitting back down at their table with another pair of tankards in his hands. The friar was her point of contact with the party of five – her first adventuring group. She had been warned of his reputation by her friend, Marrian. Lady Marrian was a few summers Isabella’s senior, already a cleric, and considerably more seasoned than the young acolyte. She had warned Isabella of the friar’s silver tongue, and that under no circumstances was she to “get drunk and let him shag you on the veranda.” Isabella could only assume this was from experience. Ramelik had yet to attempt any seduction on her, a fact that left Isabella only slightly disappointed. 

The Zafars – whom she had met a week before while waiting for the rest of their party – sat together in the corner of their booth and cuddled. In addition to being competent fighters, Isra and Suhaym were probably the noblest Saracens she had ever met. The husband and wife complimented each other in battle, and never seemed to compromise in their loyalty to Albion. Isabella assumed that is why they always seemed to be at odds with Eirik.

Eirik was a bit of an enigma. Sitting across from her and finishing only his second tankard of ale, Eirik had already shed the chainmail that was the trademark armor of the dual-blade-wielding mercenary. Isabella had heard of the fighters who forewent the defense of sturdy plate armor and a shield in favor of the weaker chainmail and a second blade. She also heard they held no loyalty to Albion; only loyalty to money.

Isabella surreptitiously watched Eirik from across the booth. Mercenaries were typically from the highlands, as Eirik appeared to be. But Eirik did not act like she would expect a mercenary to act. He did not seem to be interested in the reward for their task. He was also very loyal to his companions – especially Ramelik – and even seemed to tolerate the abuse from the Saracens.

When the young acolyte remembered Ramelik’s comment about Eirik’s armor she put the pieces together: despite their different backgrounds, all of the members of this group currently belonged to the Defenders Guild, all of them except Eirik. It was then that she realized she had been staring at the mercenary…and he was staring back.

“Say, where’d Glithiel go?” Isabella quickly asked, remembering the sixth member of their small band as she surveyed the tavern hall.

“Probably polishing his staff,” quipped Ramelik as he made a stroking motion with his left hand. Eirik tried to maintain a straight face but the alcohol made it impossible and he broke out in a fit of laughter. Isabella furrowed her brow in a vain attempt to understand what was so funny when Eirik saved her the trouble.

“Good god, man,” the Highlander laughed, “Don’t do that in the presence of polite company.” Ramelik tried to look innocent.

“What? It has twice the chance of being the truth.” Ramelik winked and Eirik sighed.

“Ignore him, Izzie.” 

Isabella narrowed her eyes at the two men for a moment. She reached for her drink and took another sip of mead when a smile curled her lips. She did indeed understand Ramelik’s joke, but would never admit it. _Let them believe I’m an innocent child_, she thought, hiding her grin behind her mug.

Maintaining the façade of innocence, Isabella wiped the smile from her face and set down her drink. She continued to study her companions and the tavern minstrels began the evening’s festivities with a lively song. Isra and Suhaym continued kissing and whispering to each other. Ramelik had nearly polished off his sixth tankard while Eirik stretched out and casually nicked the friar’s seventh. Eirik was certainly the trickster, Isabella thought, which reminded her of their encounter at the camp.

“How do you know about the Angelus bell, Eirik?”

Eirik shrugged. “I’ve been around Albion a bit. You pick things up.”

“It’s not common knowledge, especially amongst the laity.”

“And definitely not amongst heathens like Bouditha,” Ramelik chimed in. Isabella burst out in laughter and tapped her nose knowingly.

“Too true!” the young acolyte said.

“Well, I know it’s a call to prayer.”

“During which we close our eyes in quiet reflection!” exclaimed Isabella. Eirik also tapped his nose with a conspiratorial grin.

“My hope was you were calm enough to get the reference as well.”

“And what was in the pouch?”

“Dartmoor clay. Burns the shite out of the eyes.”

“And the nose, by the way. Keep that in mind before you use it again in close quarters.” Isabella rubbed her nose and sniffed – the memory still quite clear. “Very impressive, Mercenary.” Isabella grinned.

“Well, I have my moments, I suppose.” Eirik winked at Isabella and finished off the tankard of ale – just as Ramelik realized that the tankard belonged to him.

Ramelik was about to protest when the tavern’s minstrels began their next song. Isabella interrupted Ramelik before he and Eirik could come to blows over the stolen drink. The young acolyte finally downed the rest of her mead and leapt to her feet.

“Ah!” she exclaimed with joy. “I love this song!”

It was a joyous tune played by a trio of minstrels in the center of the hall. Upon hearing the music, several other patrons rose from their seats to join the minstrels in dance. Even the Zafars and Ramelik got up to join Isabella, leaving Eirik alone at the table. 

Isabella rather wished he would join her and the rest of the companions. There was no reason not to, she thought. He did seem a bit standoffish, but it was obvious he was not your typical mercenary. Just because he was a member of that somber Guild of Shadows was no reason not to have fun. The young acolyte was just beginning to warm to the man, too. After all he did save her life, twice.

Isabella saw Eirik watching her dance and a plan began to form. Recalling the time she and a few other members of her cloister had sneaked out to watch a traveling festival, the young acolyte began mimicking the dances of the young women she saw that night. Isabella’s movements were slightly awkward, but a glance at Eirik told her she had his attention.

Grinning back at her, Eirik still did not get up. Isabella grew frustrated and decided on the direct approach. Grabbing Eirik by both hands, Isabella dragged the sturdy fighter into the crowd. Eirik begrudgingly joined his companions with an awkward rhythm that barely matched the tempo of the music. Isabella laughed and tried to help him, but Eirik refused and simply made up his own dance.

“How can a man who wields two swords to well be so uncoordinated?” Isabella shouted over the music. “Is it deliberate?” The young acolyte laughed as Eirik stuck out his tongue in mock petulance and continued experimenting with different movements.

“He’s hopeless, Izzie, don’t waste your breath.” Isabella turned to Isra who winked at her. “There are plenty of boars in the farm down the road with more grace and manners.” Isabella laughed but Eirik ignored the Saracen woman. Isabella looked back at the grinning mercenary and rolled her eyes.

Taking Erik’s hands, Isabella did her best to lead the man in the steps she had learned that night with her fellow acolytes.

“What is this dance called,” Eirik asked his companion.

“Not everything needs a name, but if it’s important to you call it ‘Watch and Learn’.”

“Ah dinnae ken but I’ll give it a go!” Eirik replied mocking her country accent. Isabella simply shook her head and sighed but continued to lead Eirik.

Eirik and Isabella danced and the young acolyte observed the fighter improving either by practice or by dropping his ruse. Isabella was almost convinced it was the latter. When the song ended, the _Scrapwood Tavern_ erupted in applause. Eirik pretended it was he that his fellow patrons were applauding and thanked them a little too loudly much to Isabella’s chagrin.

Isabella quickly dragged the unrepentant mercenary off the dais and our of the tavern’s main hall. The pair soon found themselves in a quiet hallway leading to their rooms. Isabella’s stomach fluttered; with mead or nerves, she was not sure, but she regretted choosing such a strong drink simply to impress her new companions.

Eirik, too, was feeling the effects of the evening’s activities, and he was not sure if it was the alcohol or the beautiful girl who drew him by the hand. Soon he found himself at the end of a dimly-lit corridor in front of a door. He could only assume it was the door to Isabella’s room – conveniently located across from his own.

Isabella looked up at Eirik and made a decision. With one hand on the latch of her door, the young acolyte drew the older man down for her first ever kiss. The two companions hesitated for a moment before their lips met. It was a gentle kiss, but enough to stoke the passion buried deep inside each of them. Isabella opened the door to her room and pulled Eirik in.

◄●►

Inside Isabella’s room their lips met again, this time for much longer. Isabella felt her body melt as the blood rushed from her head to organs of higher priority. The young acolyte moaned when she felt the tip of Eirik’s tongue swipe across her lips which parted slightly to let the strong warrior in. Isabella’s tongue made and experimental flick against Eirik’s and was met with renewed interest from the Highlander.

To Eirik the young acolyte’s lips were soft, and warm. Although he was no stranger to the innocent pecks between young men and women, it had been what seemed like years to Eirik since he had experienced the thrill of the first kiss with a new love. Isabella was new to this – he could tell. Her breath was ragged and her lips trembled, but her passion was just as fierce as any of the women Eirik had gotten to know this well in the past.

When Isabella felt Eirik’s hand roaming down her back, the acolyte broke the kiss and gasped. The Highlander’s scent filled her nostrils making her even more light-headed. Still grasping his collar, Isabella looked into Eirik’s eyes and gulped. Eirik stroked the back of his companion’s neck then hesitantly released the knot holding her hair in the chignon. Isabella shivered as the bun fell apart and her long brown hair fell across her neck. It felt like being disrobed, she thought, and she decided that sounded like a good idea. Isabella smiled shyly and leaned up again to kiss Eirik firmly.

Her lips still pressed against Eirik’s, Isabella fumbled with the clasps on her armor. When she uttered a grunt of frustration through the kiss, Eirik’s hand joined hers in aid in removing the offending armor. Once free of the studded leather tunic, Isabella stepped back, giving Eirik the opportunity to see little more of her. The short Briton girl wore a light linen shirt beneath her armor. Moreover, like her armor, it was too big for her. The over-sized tunic made Isabella appear particularly diminutive. The Highlander studied her for a moment. It was then that he noticed the crucifix around her neck. 

Eirik tentatively reached for it. The cross was small, no bigger than the palm of his hand. Carved from a single piece of wood, the symbol of the Church’s presence in Albion hung around Isabella’s neck by an intricate woven leather cord.

Nervous, Isabella tucked the crucifix into her tunic and pulled Eirik down for another kiss. She did not want to think about her order and its rules and restrictions, but her knees began to wobble none-the-less. She was in unfamiliar territory and her actions this eve could get her into serious trouble with the Church. Isabella suddenly broke the kiss and struggled for breath.

“I expect you get a lot of women,” she said still holding Eirik and looking serious. “Wh-what with the, um…” In her tipsy state, Isabella had trouble putting the words together.

“What?” Eirik asked. “The kilt?” 

Isabella laughed. “No! The adventuring!” Isabella’s face turned serious again. “Are there lots? I-I mean women? Back in the cloister, we…I mean _they_ talk a lot about the bold adventurers passing through Camelot.” Isabella’s skin flushed a delightful pink color. She tried to avoid appearing too eager, however she quickly realized that ship had long since sailed.

The mercenary shrugged sheepishly. “You’d be surprised how few there are.” Eirik grinned. “Besides, are you not also an ‘adventurer’?”

“What?” Isabella broke out in a fit of laughter that affirmed her inebriation. “I’d hardly call three weeks in the woods and nearly getting myself killed qualifying me to be an adventurer.”

“Ah, but it was adventurous and everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Where did you start?”

“Well…”

“Oh feck it!” Isabella exclaimed as she dived in for another kiss, this time much more aggressive. _This is hardly the time for conversation_, she thought. Between the mead and the moral conundrum of what she was about to do, the young acolyte could barely hold two thoughts in her head let alone concentrate on her companion’s story.

But Isabella had indeed made up her mind and hooked her thumbs into her leather breaches. As the young acolyte got her pants over her hips she decided it would be easier to remove them completely whilst on the bed. Breaking the kiss, Isabella turned around, took one step, and tripped right over her leggings.

The poor girl yelped and managed to grab the bed on her way to the floor. Eirik leapt to intercept but was far too drunk to respond in time. The pair ended up in a heap on the floor beside the bed. 

“Well, great,” Isabella grumbled. She was sure Eirik now thought her nothing but a moronic child now. Isabella buried her head in her lap. Her leggings were in a bundle about her ankles. At least her tunic was long enough to protect her modesty. Eirik sat down beside her and gently wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Izzie…” he began.

“My parents call me that,” Isabella interrupted, her voice muffled. “And my baby brother.” 

“I-I didn’t mean any offense, b-but…” Eirik tried to stammer out an apology. Isabella snapped her head up and looked up directly into Eirik’s eyes. The young man immediately forgot what he was going to say. All he could see were the brilliant green eyes framed by the girl’s broad forehead and freckled cheeks. 

Looking into Eirik’s eyes, however, Isabella saw much more.

Three summers prior, on the day she reached womanhood, Isabella first experienced what she called a “vision.” Whenever she looked into a person’s eyes long enough, she saw things that were not there before. And when she looked away, the visions vanished. In her mother’s eyes, Isabella saw a plump little girl running happily through a field. In her father’s eyes she saw a burly young man dancing with his newfound love – the young woman who would become Isabella’s mother. And in her baby brother’s eyes she saw him playing with a menagerie of frogs, bears, and a ridiculously silly purple dragon.

The visions confused her at first, but they seemed harmless. That is until Isabella looked into the eyes of one of the village guards – a man who had seen many battles in the Albion frontiers. Isabella ran home to her parents in tears. The only thing more terrifying that the vision she saw in the man’s eyes was the fact that she felt pulled – almost dragged – into the vision itself. It had taken all of her strength to free her mind. Isabella never told her parents why she was so upset. Indeed she never told them about the visions at all, and she certainly was not about to reveal the ability now.

It was then that Isabella decided to join the Church of Albion and begin training as an acolyte. She thought that surely someone in the church would be able to explain her gift. However the young Briton girl learned through casual inquiries that the church regarded such visions as unnatural and evil. Isabella feared she would be branded a heretic and killed, so she hid her ability and concentrated on her training.

But the young acolyte continued to explore her gift in secret. Most of the other girls in the cloister unknowingly provided Isabella with a safe venue for her research. Isabella believed that the visions were a visual representation of the person’s mood, but she eventually learned that if she concentrated she could learn much more. The clearer the vision, the deeper into the person’s soul she could see. Isabella often learned much more about her friends and teachers than she ever wanted.

Most of the time the deep visions were helpful. Isabella became a trusted friend and confidant to the other girls, and even helped one of them overcome a horrific childhood experience. However Isabella learned that if she did not maintain control, the other person’s emotions could have a powerful effect on her mind and vice versa. Isabella prayed she never found out what would happen if she lost complete control. 

And now – her mind muddled on her first ever tankard of mead – Isabella was trying not to let Eirik’s deepest emotions affect her. It was a losing battle.

Isabella saw a young boy – perhaps ten years old – surrounded by darkness. The darkness – a greyish-black fog – loomed over the boy with malevolent tendrils snaking out, trying to grab him. The darkness was kept at bay by some unseen force but the boy was timid and afraid. The dark fog pulsed suddenly and the boy looked up. When he looked directly at Isabella, she nearly panicked. Never before had the subject of the vision acknowledged her presence. The boy smiled at Isabella and waved, albeit shyly. Isabella waved back and watched as the darkness surrounding him retreated slightly. 

Having found what she was looking for, Isabella closed her eyes and spoke.

“I’m sorry, what?” Eirik said, finally coming out of his trance.

“I said you’ve never done this before, have you, Eirik?” 

Eirik hesitated. “I’ve kissed one or two lasses, aye.” His cheeks turned a bright crimson.

“But you’re a virgin,” Isabella stated without a hint of accusation. Eirik’s blush deepened.

“Yes. I am.”

“So am I.” Isabella squirmed, and Eirik tried to say something but she cut him off with a gentle hand to his lips. “But I still want to.”

“S-so do I.” Eirik’s voice was soft and comforting. Isabella smiled and leaned up for another kiss. As she reveled in the sensations of his lips upon hers, Isabella’s mind fought through the fog of alcohol. She thought about the man beside her. He was strong, and brave, but reserved. He was also a member of the Shadows Guild. 

Isabella quickly broke off the kiss leaving Eirik startled. She held Eirik’s face in her hands and looked into his eyes. The older fighter wanted to speak but found himself lost in a trance again. Isabella searched the vision for an answer to her other question – the question that had nagged her since their encounter with the Red Dwarf.

“Eirik, why did you leave the Defenders of Albion?”

“W-what?” Eirik stammered. “Who told–”

“I…I just know.” 

Eirik tried to look away but Isabella tilted his head back to her. The fighter sighed and leaned up against the bed. “I didn’t leave, Izzie. I was expelled.”

“What!?” Isabella exclaimed. 

“Isabella, there is a lot you don’t know about me. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“I-I don’t understand. What else could there be?”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning.” Eirik stood and offered a hand to Isabella who took it. The two friends sat together on the bed and Eirik began his story.

“I was raised in Humberton, but I am not a Highlander. My father was a Briton from Cotswold village, but my mother,” Eirik took a deep breath, “she was…”

“Norse.” Isabella held Eirik’s gaze. “Eirik is a Norse name, isn’t’ it? And it was she who named you.” Startled by her insight, Eirik could only nod. Isabella was in shock. She could not believe she was correct.

“How? How did she come to be here? In Albion?!”

“They never told me the whole story, only that my father was nearly killed in the frontiers and my mother – a healer of Midgard – saved his life. But in doing so she was captured. It was by the grace of God that my father managed to save her life in return.” Eirik’s voice wavered and Isabella looked deep into the man’s eyes. She could see the young boy lost in the darkness, frightened and alone. The vision she saw in Eirik was devastating to the young acolyte who could tell the story did not have a happy ending.

“How did your parents end up in the Highlands?” Isabella asked.

“I don’t know.” Eirik sighed. “There was always some…deep sadness whenever I asked about the past. But my childhood in Humberton was a happy one – the folk there accepted us as one of their own – except I knew our family was different.”

“You were very lucky.”

“Aye, we were.” Eirik forced a weak smile, but Isabella’s next question was too much even for him.

“Where are your parents now?” Isabella immediately regretted the question. Eirik’s eyes grew wet with tears as he tried to maintain the acolyte’s gaze. The young boy in the vision stumbled to the ground and cried for help. Isabella wept.

“Oh, Eirik, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Isabella closed her eyes shutting out the vision and hugged her friend. Isabella hated what she saw and silently cursed her ability. After a few trembling moments, Eirik spoke again.

“It’s alright; it was a long time ago.” Eirik took another deep breath. “My father passed away when I was but ten.”

“What happened?” Isabella asked, her voice muffled in Eirik’s chest.

“He died of fever.” Eirik stroked Isabella’s hair. Isabella wanted him to stop; she did not want to hear any more. It was her and her idiotic questions that were hurting someone she had begun to care for deeply, and she wanted it all to just stop! “My mother couldn’t live without my father. She…”

“Stop!” Isabella begged tearfully. “Eirik, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked! I had no right to do this to you!” She looked up at Eirik; her eyes begging for forgiveness. Eirik was taken aback. Wiping his eyes, the fighter hugged the girl, shushing her.

“It’s alright, Isabella. I swear you did no wrong in asking.”

“Are you sure?” Isabella asked once her tears had stopped.

“You and I are comrades in adventure now.” Eirik held her face in his hands. “Whether you like it or not, we share a bond with each other. We all do. Everyone in our group trusts each other because we are honest with each other.”

“Does anyone else know you are half Norse?” 

Eirik hesitated. “Only Rame.”

“The two of you are very close.” 

Eirik nodded. “He is my brother. Perhaps not in blood, but I owe him my life. He accepts me for who I am…and for what I’ve done.”

Isabella climbed to her knees and pushed her companion down against the pillow at the head of the bed. Straddling the mercenary, Isabella looked into his eyes. There was sympathy in the acolyte’s gaze. That much Eirik recognized as he reached up to stroke her cheek.

“Which leads me to your first question.”

“The Defenders,” Isabella stated flatly. Eirik nodded. “Why were you expelled?”

“Because I saw injustice against those who could not protect themselves, and I could not stand by idly and watch.”

“What do you mean?” Isabella asked, furrowing her brow.

“When my company liberated a castle in the frontier from the forces of Hibernia, our soldiers did not just drive off the occupiers; they slaughtered them…and their families. You don’t understand, Izzie, it’s not just soldiers in those fortresses. When I saw them being killed simply because they were of a different clan, or a different race, I did what I felt was right. The part of me that was raised by my mother ran to help those who were different.”

Isabella stared into Eirik’s eyes as she listened to his words. The young acolyte was shocked by the man’s confession. The boy in the vision lashed out at the darkness, pushing it away but injuring himself in the process. Isabella’s eyes grew wet again.

“You attacked your fellow soldiers?” Eirik’s breathing returned to normal and he nodded. “You could have been executed!”

“I nearly was.”

“What happened?”

“I was spared by the captain of my garrison, and I had no choice but to join the Guild of Shadows.”

“That’s why Isra and her husband are so distrusting of you.”

“Aye,” Eirik replied with a sigh. “They’ll never understand.”

“I’m not sure I entirely disagree with them.” Eirik blanched. “But I think I understand,” Isabella quickly added.

“Thank you.” Eirik sighed, hoping he had found a sympathetic soul.

“But…” Isabella hesitated, “you walk a dangerous path, Eirik.” Isabella did not know how to formulate her warning without revealing her gift. “Your…_passion_ – although not misplaced – can cause so much misery…for yourself as well as for those you love.” 

Eirik sighed. “It already has, as you can see,” the mercenary replied. “I’m an outcast. Most folk outside the Shadow’s Guild will never trust me. And the guild is known for its treachery especially against its own members.” 

Isabella nodded. “I’m so sorry, Eirik.” Taking his hand and holding it firmly, Isabella shut out the vision. The two companions observed each other for many heartbeats until Eirik broke the silence.

“What about you?”

“What?” Isabella replied.

“You. You haven’t told me anything about yourself.” Eirik grinned. “You now know everything about me.” 

Isabella shrugged. “Not much to tell. I grew up on a farm near Ludlow village with me mum and me dad…”

“Ah-ha! That’s why McCory was so important!”

“Oh, brilliant deduction, Merlin,” Isabella mocked. “Ya figure that one out all on your own?” Eirik smiled triumphantly and Isabella simply shook her head. “Aye, that bastard was a threat to my family and the whole village. Of course I wanted him brought to justice, or preferably dead!”

“What else?”

“Oh, you’re so smart you figure it out,” Isabella challenged. Eirik rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think so. My parents are farmers, I have a little brother named Sean, I joined the Church of Albion as an acolyte almost three years ago, and I have but a few moons before I must decide whether to join the Defenders as a friar or remain with the Church as a cleric.”

There was a long pause as Eirik waited to hear more.

“That’s it?”

Isabella bit her lip. “Aye.” _Mostly_, she thought.

Eirik scratched his head. “Pure barry, lass; puts my adventures to shame.” Eirik waited for a response from the appalled Isabella before offering a smile.

“You, bastard!” she scolded as she took a playful swipe at the mercenary. “You’re a lot older than I am. Of course you have more tales to tell.”

“Not that much older. Besides …” Eirik reached up to stroke Isabella’s cheek, “…your eyes display wisdom beyond your years.” Eirik stared into Isabella’s eyes and she nearly panicked. 

Fearing he could somehow sense her gift, Isabella closed her eyes and leaned into the palm of his hand. Eirik stroked the girl’s cheek before running his fingers through her hair. Isabella sighed. Leaning down she brushed her lips against Eirik’s. The kiss grew deeper and more passionate, and Isabella slid down to cuddle. It was then she realized they were both still mostly dressed, and that she was about to fall asleep.

Disentangling herself from Eirik’s grasp, Isabella sat up and opened the shutters next to their bed. The quiet streets of Camelot indicated it was well past half-night.

“Eirik?” she said turning back to the man beneath her. “I-I…”

“What is it?” Eirik furrowed his brow.

Isabella pushed Eirik’s tunic up his torso and gently brushed her fingertips across his bare skin. “I want to…” She bit her lip.

“Because of what happened at the McCory camp?”

Isabella remembered the words of the Bouditha witch. The thought of the horrors she may have endured simply because she was _untouched_ sent a chill down her spine. She was afraid she would be a liability to her companions because of this and always be the primary target of any enemy they faced. Unloading that burden would certainly put her mind at ease.

“No, not just that.” She paused. “I want to, but…”

“You’re unsure.” Eirik said, tracing a finger over the outline of the crucifix beneath Isabella’s tunic.

Isabella nodded and clutched the symbol nervously. “And too drunk – as _you_ are as well,” she added with a grin.

“Do you want me to leave?”

She shook her head. “No, please stay.” 

“Very well, I would be honored.” Eirik smiled at his companion but when he tried to pull her down for an embrace, Isabella leapt off the bed and began rummaging through her belongings. Eirik watched as she pulled out a long nightshirt. When the young acolyte began shuffling off her leggings, she paused and looked back at Eirik.

“No peeking!” Isabella scolded. Eirik closed his eyes but remained facing the half-naked girl. When Isabella was assured of his honor, she took off the rest of her clothes and quickly tossed on the nightshirt. “Alright, your turn. Unless ye plan on sleeping in that dress.”

“_Kilt_,” Eirik corrected as he sat up. “And no peeking yourself,” he said with a wink. Isabella turned around, however she could not help but secure a glance at the Highlander’s rear as he stripped off his kilt and pulled on a pair of loose cloth breeches leaving himself shirtless.

Isabella climbed back onto the bed and nestled herself up against Eirik, whilst the strong Highlander wrapped his arms around her. Nuzzling his chest, Isabella inhaled Eirik’s scent again. She decided that she loved the smell; it made her feel invigorated yet weak. The Briton girl stretched up to playfully brush her nose against Eirik’s when she quickly turned away as a small belch escaped her lips. Eirik laughed.

“Yes,” she giggled. “Too drunk.”

“Aye, I suppose.” Eirik ran his fingers through Isabella’s hair.

“Don’t leave,” Isabella commanded. Fatigue was setting in and she was already falling asleep. “I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

Eirik kissed the sleeping acolyte on the top of her head and watched her doze until he, too, fell asleep.


	5. Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published January 24th, 2020

Isabella dreamt that night. In her dream, she walked through a thick fog. It could have been anywhere in Albion – which was no stranger to the shroud of grey and white. Even though the path was almost totally obscured, Isabella walked calmly and confidently through the thick veil. She knew the way; she had been down this path many times before. However, the image of the shrouded landscape was not the remnant of a childhood memory of a spring morning on the plains, or an autumn evening on her family’s farm. Isabella recognized the fog from the same recurring dream that had visited her for nearly three years.

The dreams first visited Isabella in the nights leading to her first vision. At first she thought nothing of them. The second time was curious. The third time the dream came to her, Isabella took notice.

Isabella herself did not know where she was going, but the woman in the dream – a taller, older, more confident version of Isabella – strode with purpose through the enveloping white mist. Even as her surroundings grew darker, Isabella continued forward. Nothing was going to keep her from her mission…her destiny. After what seemed an eternity, the mist faded and Isabella found herself in a tremendous dark hallway flanked by ebony pillars. The pillars seemed to reach through the ceiling and into the heavens. At the far end of the hallway, Isabella saw the end of her journey.

At the end of the chamber, Isabella saw a man and woman bathed in an orange glow. Isabella paused and listened. Someone was crying. Isabella saw a young woman holding a dying warrior in her arms, surrounded by a pool of blood. Isabella touched the woman lightly on the shoulder and she turned to look at her. She was beautiful even with tears in her eyes. The mysterious young woman begged her for help and Isabella turned to the warrior.

In the beginning, the young Isabella did not recognize the man and woman but she tried to help them despite being only a simple farm girl. Years passed and the dreams continued. When Isabella grew older and became an acolyte, she was more confident but she never knew who she was trying to help – until tonight.

Tonight Isabella approached the young woman and her wounded warrior. Hearing her footsteps the young woman turned to Isabella who gasped. The dream was clearer than it had ever been, and the young woman was more beautiful than ever. She cried and turned to the man in her arms. When Isabella kneeled down to help, she looked at the warrior. He was old, but not ancient. His face was covered by a salt-and-pepper-colored beard. And his eyes were those of the man whose bed she shared that very night.

**◄●►**

Isabelle woke not with a start but with a smile. After nearly three years, her recurring dream was an old friend; not something she dreaded. It was always the same dream each night, but it had changed over time just as Isabella had grown. Each nuance added to the mystery and Isabella loved trying to interpret them.

The morning sun had not quite reached the window above the bed. The dim light that penetrated the shutters was just enough to allow the acolyte to see her bedmate. Isabella had woken up facing Eirik who was still asleep. She scrutinized him for many breaths. 

_Was he the man in my dream?_ she wondered. 

It was a wonderful possibility. It may mean something; it may not. The details of her dream had shifted over the years. Sometimes she thought she was manipulating her dream through wishful thinking.

Isabella watched Eirik’s chest rise and fall with his breathing and smiled. He could be the one. He could be someone very important in her life. She had always assumed the dream was guiding her to her destiny.

“We shall see,” she whispered, brushing her fingers gently along Eirik’s scruffy cheek. The Highlander was beginning to wake. Isabella was slowly pulling the bed covers down so as not to startle Eirik. She wanted him relaxed. But Eirik had other ideas.

Leaning over, Eirik began planting sleepy kisses on Isabella’s forehead. She smiled but tried to concentrate on uncovering more of him. Waking up more and more, Eirik was kissing his way down Isabella’s nose. She tried to ignore him, but he was not to be dissuaded.

“I remember something about a promise.” 

When Eirik’s hands began to get in the way of her work, Isabella pushed them away and narrowed her eyes at him – but with a playful smile.

Without a word, Isabella pushed at Eirik and he allowed her to roll him over onto his back. The young woman continued to pull the sheet down until Eirik’s waist was exposed. He still wore a pair of thin linen leggings, but Isabella could see the well-defined bulge in his groin. She stared at it, a broad smile curling her lips.

Isabella gracefully sat up and crawled atop Eirik, straddling his thighs. Much to Eirik’s disappointment Isabella still wore her nightgown which covered her from neck to thigh. Much like everything else she owned, the garment was too big for her. The puffy sleeves extended past her wrists and she had to keep pushing them up her arms. Eirik smiled and watched.

Isabella, on the other hand, was more focused below the waist. Eirik suppressed a chuckled when he saw the young woman’s brow furrow in determination. Untying the drawstring of Eirik’s leggings, Isabella paused for a moment before inching them down. She was almost afraid of what she might see, or how Eirik would react, or how _she_ would react. When the Highlander’s erection came into view, Isabella’s determined expression yielded a delighted smile.

She had seen one before: her baby brother’s, but that did not count, she thought. Luckily the other girls in the cloister were in no shortage of their own stories. Mostly good, some not-so-good, but regardless of how detailed the stories could be, none of them prepared her to handle the real thing.

It was pink. _A pretty color_, Isabella thought. _Girls like pink, and this _was_ essentially for girls…or rather women_. Straight as an arrow’s shaft, it lay against Eirik’s belly. The tip – which was an angry purple color – was threatening to poke out of a bit of skin at the top. Isabella took a deep breath – her tummy was fully of butterflies. _Here we go!_

The young acolyte pulled the thin cloth down further, revealing the entire appendage. There was a copious amount of dark, curly hair about the base where Eirik’s cock met his groin, and Isabella had no idea what _those_ two things down below were for other than they were supposed to be _very_ sensitive.

“If you want to escape a man quickly, a short, sharp shock to the testicles will do the trick,” Marrian had told the girls. Isabella grinned. Even Eirik had given such advice the night before. _I’ll just not touch those for now_, she thought.

Curling her fingers around Eirik’s cock, Isabella felt its warmth, its smoothness. It was soft, but when she gave it a squeeze she could tell it was hard as wood. The action also caused Eirik to sigh heavily. The sound caught Isabella’s attention and for the first time in many breaths their eyes met. Or they would if Eirik’s eyes were not closed. It was probably for the best; she did not want to witness a vision right now. It might make things too easy, and she already had a good idea what felt good. Isabella gave Eirik’s cock another firm squeeze eliciting a groan from the man.

Isabella suppressed a giggle. Eirik appeared to be in agony, but with a smile on his face. “Is this alright?” she asked. Eirik opened his eyes but a sliver and nodded. 

“Oh, yes.” The smile on his face was precious.

Isabella went back to her explorations. She carefully traced her fingers over each bump and contour. She gently pulled back on the skin to reveal the flared crown of his cock. When a crystal clear bead of fluid appeared from the little oval slit at the tip, Isabella’s eyes widened. She used her thumb to test the fluid. It was slick. She spread it across the tip and Eirik groaned. 

_This has potential_, she thought.

Isabella tried stroking her fingers softly up and down the length of Eirik’s erection. With feather-light touch, and unsure of what to concentrate on, the young acolyte had difficulty finding a rhythm. Eirik shuddered in blissful agony.

The Highlander ached for a firm grip and a hard stroke. Isabella was unknowingly keeping him on the edge of release. Eirik’s breathing grew more ragged with every passing moment. He reached down to guide her hands, but Isabella pushed them away and broke the silence again.

“Nuh-uh,” she grunted and continued her teasing, this time purposefully. When Isabella recalled more stories from her more experienced friends, she decided it was time to release Eirik from his torment. Gently gripping with both hands, Isabella stroked the Highlander’s cock with more determination.

“Like this?” she asked. Eirik reached down and wrapped his hands around hers tightly, showing her how to stroke the entire length. “Alright. Let go. I’ll do it,” she insisted, shaking his hands off. Isabella recreated the motions Eirik showed her and watched his cock grow slick as it thrust between her fingers.

“Izzie…” Eirik gasped. “You have me so close…” Isabella glanced up at her lover. Eirik’s cock was a delight to watch, but so was the look on his face. The young woman had never felt so powerful in her life. However she feared what might happen if she teased him too long. Remembering the sensitive tip, Isabella flicked her thumb across the bulbous head with every stroke. Soon Eirik was gasping for breath and nearly bucking Isabella off his thighs. The mirthful young woman did not know where to look: Eirik’s amusing expressions or his throbbing cock as his seed spilled over her hands and onto his stomach. Isabella slowed down and watched in fascination, but Eirik clasped his hands over hers.

“No, don’t stop. Not yet.” His voice was a hoarse whisper and his eyes were clenched shut. After a few more strokes, Eirik relaxed and fell back onto the bed panting. Isabella sat there with sticky hands, grinning like a child that had just gotten away with a stolen honey bun.

“Good?” she asked after a long silence.

“Aye.” 

Isabella giggled and gave Eirik’s softening member one last squeeze before releasing it and inspecting the mess. Holding up her fingers she spread the sticky fluid between her thumb and forefinger. It was very slick. She sniffed at it and wrinkled her nose.

_This is how babies are made?_ she thought. _Ew_. Isabella looked for someplace to wipe it off and saw Eirik grinning at her. When the young acolyte shifted her hips, Eirik could feel her arousal on his legs. The Highlander lifted his right knee slightly and felt a trickle of moisture run down his thigh.

“What?” Isabella asked with a wry smile. Eirik tried to pull her down for an embrace, but Isabella evaded his grasp and leaped off to clean her hands. Tossing a bit of cloth to Eirik, Isabella rinsed her own hands in the basin against the far wall. When she looked up she saw herself in a piece of polished bronze hanging on the wall. Her hair was a mess, but she did not care. Isabella grinned deviously at her reflection.

_That was fun!_ she thought.

Turning back to Eirik, she found the man still lying in bed. He was sitting up and watching her with his chin in his hand. He had a faraway look in eyes and a stupid grin on his face like someone who had just been stunned by a sorcerer’s spell. He had cleaned himself up and dropped the cloth onto the floor beside the bed. Isabella pursed her lips and sauntered across the room. She felt a flush across her cheeks. The time of reckoning had come.

Isabella locked eyes with Eirik and slowly pulled the hem of her nightgown up. When it reached her thighs, she pulled the thin garment over her head and dropped it on the floor in one swift motion. 

Eirik sucked in his breath and his eyes grew wide as Isabella stood before him wearing nothing but the small wooden crucifix about her neck. Eirik took in the young acolyte’s form. When his eyes drifted lower, Isabella began to feel self-conscious but Eirik’s eyes returned to hers quickly.

“My God, you’re an angel, Isabella.” Eirik was breathless.

Isabella’s heart swelled. “Don’t flatter me, Eirik.”

“I’m no poet, Izzie, but if I was I could make both men and women weep with words of your beauty.”

Isabella was short, but compact. Eirik was correct in his original assessment in that she did have another inch before she reached her full height. However growing up on a farm had given her no small amount of strength for a young woman. Her limbs were supple, but not thin. Even though she was not weak, Isabella still retained the beauty and slenderness of a maturing young woman.

It was Isabella’s bosom that worried her the most. Her breasts were small, but Eirik found them irresistible as they seemed to point directly at him. Each delicate swell was capped with a stiff, pink nipple surrounded by a light, puffy areola.

All of this complimented what Eirik had already seen. Isabella’s lips were full and now a deep crimson color betraying her arousal. Her beguiling eyes were wide-set, the most beautiful shade of green Eirik had seen, and framed over high cheekbones lightly covered in freckles. Eirik could now see those freckles extended to Isabella’s bare shoulders. 

However it was her hips that Eirik felt should be the subject of poetry. Even at the cloister, the other girls had marveled at the perfect swell of Isabella’s backside. Despite being covered in armor the sway of her hips had entranced Eirik during their journey through the Black Mountains.

Eirik’s declaration of Isabella’s beauty had a positive effect on her confidence and she approached the bed. Watching her hips, Eirik wished he could turn her around to see everything. However up close he could now see the light brown hair covering her nether regions. Eirik tentatively reached out before looking up at Isabella.

“M-may I?”

Nervously, Isabella smiled and nodded. “Aye.”

Eirik gently touched the skin just below Isabella’s breasts. He marveled at the softness. When he traced a finger across Isabella’s flat tummy, the acolyte gasped. Eirik withdrew his hand, but Isabella gently pulled him back.

“It’s alright. J-just sensitive.” Isabella shivered under Eirik’s touch. Everything was new and it seemed her senses were heightened ten-fold!

Isabella looked down at Eirik’s quickly re-stiffening manhood and felt a flush of excitement…and dread. She was now fairly well acquainted with a man’s anatomy, and years of self-exploration – against the rules of the church – had left her well acquainted with her own. But beyond the basic theory, Isabella had absolutely no idea how the two should work together. 

Holding Eirik at bay with one hand, Isabella grasped his tool with the other and considered the stories she had heard. Accounts of tremendous pain were common, but so where those of pleasure. Isabella manipulated Eirik’s erection in her hand and found it fairly flexible. It was then that she noticed the wet spot she had left on Eirik’s thighs. She was definitely wet, she realized, and when straddling Eirik she had felt very…open. 

_Perhaps…_ she thought.

It was at that moment that Eirik sighed happily. Isabella leaned down and kissed the Highlander deeply, their tongues slowly bumping against each other. Eirik brushed his fingers across Isabella’s cheek and through her hair. God, she loved the feeling of his fingers in her hair. Eirik’s fingers continued to trace the curve of her neck to her shoulders and down her arms. When Isabella – still locked in the kiss – felt the fingers brush the soft curls between her legs she almost screamed.

“Sorry…” Eirik tried to rescind his touch.

“No,” Isabella said between kisses and pushed his hand back to where it was. Eirik was now free to explore. This, however, was also unexplored territory for Eirik who cautiously traced a finger down through the light patch of hair until he detected moisture. Still standing beside him, Isabella spread her legs just enough to grant permission to the most intimate part of her body. Slowly, Eirik insinuated his fingers between the lips of her sex. 

Isabella gasped. This was much more fun with someone else, she realized. When the intruding fingers brushed past the sensitive bump before the entrance to her sex, Isabella released Eirik’s cock and grabbed his head for support.

“Oooooh, my!” she whispered in his ear. Obediently, Eirik did not stop, but his inexperience was driving Isabella mad with lust and eventually she had to push him away.

“Sorry…” Eirik tried to apologize.

Isabella shushed him. “No more words.” The young acolyte regained her composure and climbed atop Eirik – this time straddling his manhood – and grinned broadly. “My turn.” Carefully kneeling, Isabella grasped her lover’s cock and positioned it at the entrance of her sex. After experimentally brushing the tip across her wet folds, the young acolyte felt assured she had found the correct position and gently lowered herself. Isabella was unprepared for the delicious sensations of a man entering her and emitted a soft squeak.

Isabella was in heaven and she continued to envelop Eirik’s length. He was not too big, she decided, but she felt stretched none-the-less. It was a frightening feeling, but also exhilarating. Sinful, no doubt, but she did not care; all the acolytes did it. It was worth the penance – if she decided to bother with it. Isabella sighed and forgot all about the horror stories until she felt a sharp twinge inside her.

“Christ!” she hissed and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Izzie?” Eirik held his lover’s hips steady, he too remembering tales of painful first times. 

Isabella shook her head. “I’m alright. It was just… a little too fast.” The acolyte was more worried about breaking the third commandment than the already subsiding pain. After a few deep breaths, Isabella’s smile returned and she relaxed, resting her head on Eirik’s chest. “I guess we’re not virgins anymore,” she whispered. Eirik gently brushed his fingers through her hair.

“Thank goodness I’ll no longer have to worry about getting sacrificed to Arawn thanks to you, lass.”

Isabella could not suppress the burst of laughter. “You really know how to kill the mood, mercenary!”

“Oh, do that again!”

“What?” she asked, looking up.

“Laugh.”

Isabella chuckled and realized what he meant. Squeezing her muscles as best she could, she watched his expression. “Feel good?” she asked. Eirik nodded enthusiastically. “Well, too bad because I don’t care. Ya had your fun, and it’s my turn now.” Isabella gave Eirik a peck on the nose and sat up. The initial discomfort was gone and the young woman could feel the head of her lover’s manhood nestled deep inside her as she sat firmly upon his thighs.

Under Eirik’s gaze, Isabella experimented with her movements. Leaning forward and lifting her rear, Eirik almost slipped out, but Isabella caught herself in time. Eirik seemed to like the movement but that was nothing compared to what Isabella felt when she sat straight up and thrust her hips forward. Isabella gasped. Closing her eyes she tried it again. Not only did she feel Eirik’s cock deep inside bumping the entrance to her womb, but her sensitive bud was grinding delightfully against Eirik’s groin.

“Oh yes,” she whispered, her eyes closed in concentration. Isabella leaned back placing her hands behind her on Eirik’s shins and continued to grind her hips, but a yelp from him forced her to return to her first position. It was not bad, but she supposed she had to live with her lover’s limitations. The young acolyte found a compromise and leaned forward with her hands on Eirik’s chest.

Isabella continued her movements, building slowly. It was not entirely unlike her personal explorations, but the thick cock buried deep inside her added an incredible sensation that was pushing her to new heights. Soon the experience grew intense. Isabella became frightened, but continued to grind against her lover. Eirik could see the almost desperate expression on Isabella’s face and placed his hands on her hips to reassure her.

The air in the room grew hot and the only sounds were those of their slick copulation and the creaking bed. Isabella’s excitement continued to grow beyond anything she had experienced before and she cried out.

“Oh, Eirik!” She could feel herself getting close, but still could not reach the plateau. 

“Izzie!” Eirik, too, felt the urgency in his loins even after having so recently found relief. Isabella was a goddess that drew his energy from deep within. She was beautiful, he thought, and radiated sensuality. Her innocence and inquisitive nature set his heart on fire. Eirik closed his eyes, saw a flash of light and felt a pounding in his ears as he reached the apex of pleasure.

Isabella felt him twitch inside her. It was all she needed. “Eirik!” Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over the young Isabella until she took one final thrust down on Eirik’s cock and collapsed on his chest. Eirik held her and the pair remained still for a long while; only the sound of their heavy breathing filled the room until it too was reduced to a gentle rhythm. 

Eirik tentatively rubbed his lover’s back; a thin sheen of sweat covered Isabella’s skin. Resting her cheek against his chest Isabella hugged Eirik even tighter. A sliver of morning sunlight through the shutters chose that moment to fall upon Isabella’s face. Her loins continued to twitch.

“I always keep my promises, Eirik.”

Eirik chuckled. “Aye.” Isabella’s head raised then lowered as the mercenary heaved a tremendous sigh. “That was…I think you’re going to kill me with that energy.”

“You deserve it,” Isabella retorted playfully. “You defiler of young maidens; I’m in the Church for goodness sake.” Isabella rested her chin on Eirik’s chest and stared into his eyes. “You have beautiful eyes, Eirik. Please close them.”

Eirik dutifully obeyed the strange request and Isabella watched his face for many breaths without the knowledge of what he was feeling at that particular moment. She did not regret their night, but she wondered if she made the right decision. A lot had changed for her in the last moon. Marrian had pushed her out the door of the church with instructions to go to Ludlow and a note with Ramelik’s name on it. And now she had found the man who was literally from her dreams. Or was he? Isabella smiled and decided she did not care.

The spent lovers cuddled silently until Eirik’s fingers touched the braided leather cord around Isabella’s neck. Eirik found the cross that hung at the end and turned it over in his hand inspecting it closely. Isabella watched him carefully but did not say anything.

“You never took it off,” he stated absently.

“I promised my mother I wouldn’t.”

“She gave it to you?”

“Aye.” Isabella nodded. “She made it for me when I joined the Church.” She sensed concern in her lover – centered on the crucifix and its meaning. Isabella gently took the cross from Eirik and tucked it out of view. _Don’t think about that now_, she silently pleaded.

“Do you think the others will be looking for us?” Isabella said, breaking the silence. Eirik grinned.

“Glithiel has been up for several hours already with his nose buried in some dusty tome somewhere; Isra and her husband are probably in the exact same position we are in; and Rame won’t be up for…” Eirik strained to look out the window, “another three hours at least.”

“So we have time for another go?!” Isabella chirped.

“Oh, God!”

“Joking!”

Isabella extracted herself from Eirik and the two lovers dressed. Isabella learned there was more for the woman to do after a successful coupling, and Eirik did his best to help her maintain her dignity. Before Eirik could leave, Isabella pinned him to the door and pulled him down for a long, luxurious kiss. The young acolyte could not get enough of the man’s lips and soon Eirik was struggling for breath. Plans were made to meet with their friends and Eirik slipped quietly into his room across the hall. Finally alone, Isabella leapt into the air and danced.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted in a whisper while skipping around the room until she felt a twinge between her legs. “Ow, ow, ow!” The young acolyte leaned against the bed and squirmed. “Better give it more time before I do that again.”

**◄●►**

“So how was it?” 

Isabella smirked and continued browsing but did not answer the question. Isra and Isabella met at the entrance to the inn and escorted each other to the Camelot market. Isabella realized that Eirik was indeed correct about the Zafars. Isra’s normally well-kept hair was a mess and she had a glow in her cheeks. Of course Isra recognized the same glow on Isabella’s face.

“It was…_fine_,” Isabella finally replied coyly.

“Really? Just _fine_?” Isra cocked an eyebrow. Isabella could no longer contain herself.

“It was _awesome_!” The young acolyte performed a twirl. When she had made a full revolution she was met with a disconcerted look from the Saracen.

“So you took my advice, good.” Isra watched the acolyte stroll past the multitude of wares heaped upon the market wagons. “Did he tell you what happened?” she asked, catching up to Isabella.

“Yes, he told me everything.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

Isabella paused and ran a finger over a duskwood staff: a weapon meant for a friar. She turned to Isra and took a breath. “I’m interested in the man, not the mercenary.” 

Isra eyed her suspiciously. “They are one and the same.” Isabella turned back to the staff nervously. “I’m sorry.” Isra’s gaze softened. “It’s none of my business. I’m happy for you, child.” Isabella turned back to her friend; the twinkle in her eyes returned. Isra was almost afraid to broach her second concern.

“Did you take precautions, Izzie?” the Saracen asked.

“What? You mean like lock the door?”

Isra cleared her throat. “You know perfectly well what I mean,” she said seriously as she revealed a vial of amber liquid from her pouch. Isabella’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Put that away, Isra!” she hissed. “You know you could be burned at the stake simply for possessing that!”

“I just want you to be safe, child,” Isra replied calmly, putting the vial back in her hidden pouch. “You’re young.”

“Not _that_ young.” Isabella remained defiant. “Besides, you know that as member of the Church I cannot do that, right? If a child happens, then it happens; I’m alright with that.”

**◄●►**

“It didn’t take you two long to find each other,” Ramelik chuckled. Eirik had been eying a row of weapons at the blacksmith’s shop when the friar had found him. The mercenary turned his head and grinned before returning his gaze to the swords on the wall.

“Soooo…did you listen to my advice?” Ramelik asked. Eirik did not bother to look at him instead keeping his eyes on the wares.

“I did. Then I did the exact opposite and everything turned out alright.”

Ramelik scoffed. “So how was it then?”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“I know _they_ don’t that is why I’m asking _you_.”

“Very funny.” Eirik picked up a sword and examined it before turning to the friar. “She seemed pleased with the results,” he said with a wink. Fifteen silver coins later the pair walked out of the shop and into Fountain Square.

“Eirik. We’re friends, right?”

“Aye, as long as your mother keeps sending me the coin every month.”

“Very funny. You should apply for court jester; they could use a lout like you. Anyway, as your friend I feel it is my duty to warn you.”

Eirik stopped. “Warn me about what?”

Ramelik furrowed his brow, searching for the right words. “In their last year in training, every acolyte likes to…” he paused, thinking hard, “have a little fun…before they have to decide whether to join the Defenders as I did…or the Church.” The friar waited for a response.

Eirik sighed and nodded. “I think I understand: one last dip in the real world before they may be required to take ‘the vows’.”

“Aye. Clerics are celibate.” Ramelik placed a hand on Eirik’s shoulder. “There’s still a chance she may choose the path of a friar, but…I don’t want my friend to get hurt.”

“I’m not a boy, Rame, I can handle myself.” Ramelik simply shrugged in response. “So anyway,” Eirik said, slapping the friar on the back as the pair continued on, “regale me with the tales of how you yourself have exploited this ever-replenishing pool of eager young lasses.”

**◄●⌛●►**

Isabella smiled; a deep blush crossed her freckled cheeks. The memory of her first time always left her with a wonderfully warm feeling, and recounting the tale to Abaigeal had somehow heightened the feelings. However, Isabella had omitted certain details in her story. Her dream and her ability to perceive a person’s deepest emotions were things she was unsure she was ready to reveal to Abaigeal right now…if ever.

Abaigeal sat curled up across the bed from her lover and covered her mouth in shock. The young mixed-blood woman was again conflicted: she learned more about her father and Isabella, but she could not suppress the raw emotions bubbling to the surface.

Seeing Abaigeal’s discomfort, Isabella shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Abaigeal, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I just…” Abaigeal was having difficulty putting her feelings into words.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Not at all!” Abaigeal insisted. “I just feel like… like I have missed so much of my father’s life…and of yours.” Isabella reached for the young woman’s hand and held it. “I’m also jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Isabella asked.

“Jealous of my father…and of you. I cannot explain it. It feels strange hearing about how you and my father were lovers. B-but it is nice to know that despite everything he was still human.” 

“It’s alright, Abaigeal.” Isabella gave her young lover’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Your father was many things, but a monster he was not.”

Abaigeal sniffled and wiped her eyes before cracking a wry smile. “Tell me more. Was my father good in bed?”

Isabella laughed and kissed Abaigeal on the lips. “I had nothing to compare it to – at least not with another person – so, aye, it was pretty bloody good! And your father and I worked very _hard_ at getting better at it.” Abaigeal joined in the mirth with a squeal of laughter. “I was so young, Abbie,” Isabella sighed, “and so in love with your father.”

“Was he in love with you?”

Isabella bit her lip. “He never said. _Neither_ of us did.”

Abaigeal’s smile faded. “So what happened? My mother’s journal says that you ended the affair.”

**◄●⌛●►**


	6. Agape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published April 6th, 2020

“Are you alright?” Isabella asked.

“Aye. I’m fine,” Eirik replied. Isabella bit her lip.

“This should concern you, as well. The head of my order is sending me – us – there personally.”

“I know.” Eirik pulled back on the reigns of his horse and Isabella followed suit. The pair spoke privately as their party traveled north from Camelot. Eirik gripped his horse’s reigns tightly. “It’s just that I have not been back home for many years and when I left…I was a member of the Defenders.” 

“Do you think they know?”

“Belef will know, and that is all it takes. I am sorry, Izzie, but my presence in Humberton would only serve as a distraction.” 

Isabella considered her lover’s words for a moment and nodded. When Lady Winchell, the head of the Order of Clerics, had summoned her to Camelot, she was already nervous. When Winchell told her to gather as many companions as possible for her next task, Isabella knew that this was no ordinary Church errand. However, it was Eirik who balked when they learned they were being sent to his childhood home of Humberton.

The pair rode in silence as their party traveled along the well-worn path past Vetusta Abbey. Isabella decided against pursuing the matter with Eirik and instead took the opportunity to gaze out over the countryside. Autumn had arrived and the hills had turned to a beautiful sea of orange and yellow all across Albion. This was Isabella’s favorite time of the year. The air was filled with the smell of freshly-cut wheat. Memories of the harvest on her family’s farm came flooding back to the girl with each breath. 

Isabella frowned. Although she had returned to Ludlow for visits several times since she had become an acolyte, it had been nearly three years since the last time she had received permission to visit her family during the all-important autumn harvest. She missed her parents and her little brother the most during this time of year. However, her second family had grown.

In the three moons since she had met Ramelik and the Zafars, two more adventurers had joined their group. Schley, a young paladin from Isabella’s order, joined them shortly after their encounter with Gundron McCory. Schley, with his heavy armor, had been a welcome addition to the group – taking much of the responsibility of defense off Eirik. Even though Isra and her husband Suhaym possessed the most experience, Schley had since become the _de facto_ leader of the group due to being the most imposing-looking fighter.

Despite the addition of another skilled fighter, Isabella’s favorite had to be Ast’asher the Minstrel. His music delighted the young acolyte, and his lively tunes kept the group’s spirits high on their long journeys across southern Albion. The companions had grown into a well-rounded group of adventurers. There was even talk of forming a small guild now that they had pooled enough gold to register with Camelot. 

_So much has changed_, Isabella sighed. Isabella looked at Eirik. Another change was soon to take place and she had a tremendous decision to make.

The party reached their destination before noon and a castle came into view over the horizon. Caer Humberton was not a large castle. Serving the surrounding shire, the town that had sprung up at the bottom of the hill now dwarfed the fortress. However, it was well-maintained. Humberton was a prosperous town due to the skilled smiths that always seemed to make their home in the highlands. The citizens were proud of their town and happily paid the gold to keep their lord’s castle in top shape.

The party of eight dismounted their horses on the outskirts of town. Eirik tended to his horse while the rest tethered their own mounts.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Eirik smiled at Isabella and patted his brown mare. “I’ll look after the horses. You’ll find Belef in the west tower.”

“I’ll find out what he wants, and we’ll be on our way quickly. I promise. And I…”

“Always keep your promises,” Eirik interrupted with a wink. “Aye.”

**◄●►**

The sun had reached its apex and the morning chill was replaced by the sun’s gentle warmth. Eirik had grown nervous by the time Isabella and the six other members of the party returned. Isabella’s brow was furrowed with deep concern.

“Eirik, does the name ‘Harrish’ mean anything to you?”

“That gobshite?” Eirik scoffed. “Aye, he had been an annoyance for years in these parts. What’s this got to do with him?”

“What did he do?”

Eirik eyed Isabella curiously. “He had been spouting some nonsense about the standing stones north of Wiltshire. Something about sacrifice. Real heretical stuff, but no one really paid any heed. We ran him out of here years ago. I assumed he died.”

“It’s much worse. He’s alive and he has followers now. Lord Belef says he’s kidnapped children from the village!”

“What!”

“No one who has gone looking for them has returned.”

Eirik stood next to his horse, stunned. “The Church was right; Belef really does need our help.”

Isabella nodded.

“W-well, where do we find him?”

**◄●►**

“Northeast.” The heavily armed and armored guard pointed to the hills in the distance. “But I’d advise against it.”

It had been nearly two days since they had left Humberton and the party had just crossed the largest river in southern Albion. A magnificent white stone bridge that glimmered in the late afternoon sun spanned the river. At the north bank of the river, Isabella had approached the guards stationed at the two towers that marked the southern boundary of Camelot’s influence in the Black Mountains. Showing the guards Belef’s seal, she inquired about the recent disturbances.

The grizzled old guard scrutinized the adventurers and shrugged. “Although I suspect you lot are better equipped than most.” The old guard’s younger partner simply shrugged and returned to his duties in the tower behind them.

“You’re sure?” Eirik asked. The guard shifted his focus to the mercenary standing behind the acolyte and squinted.

“Aye, I’m sure.” The man’s gravelly voice grated on Isabella’s ears with obvious annoyance. Eirik rolled his eyes. “Would you like a map?” The guard grinned.

“W-well, that would be most welcome-” Isabella stammered.

“I ‘aven’t got one!” the guard interrupted.

“Don’t be an arse,” said Eirik. “We’re performing a service on behalf of Camelot and the Church.”

“Huh,” the guardsman scoffed. “You lot are all the same; think you’re better than the rest of us.” The old guard turned and walked back to the tower. “There’s your directions. That’s where the rest of ‘em went. I’ll be sure to tell the next ones that come ‘round here askin’ about Harrish just ‘ow well you lot did.”

“Pay him no heed, My Lady,” Isra said once they were out of earshot of the tower. “Spend as many years as he has dealing with Albion weather and you’d be grumpy, too.”

“Aye,” Suhaym added. “We have all that we need. We’ll find Harrish.”

Isabella surveyed the area. Across the river to the east, she could see the massive figure of a bull carved into the chalk in side of the hill. Her father used to tell her tales of the White Bull. She had never been this far north before, and would have loved to see the ancient figure under different circumstances. To the north lay the edge of the Black Mountains and beginnings of the forest where the guards claimed they would find Harrish. Isabella looked at the sun and sighed.

“We have little time until sunset,” Isabella noted. “What do you suggest?”

“The standing stones are somewhere in the forest hills, but I have no idea where. No one does,” Eirik said.

“Isra and Suhaym could scout ahead for these stones,” Ramelik offered.

“Too dangerous.” All eyes turned to the paladin. Schley rested comfortably on his horse and pointed north. “The Church has gotten word of heretics – filidh – in the area. We don’t know what were up against. Confronting them on their own territory at night would place us at a disadvantage.”

“Aye,” said Isra. “Best if we travel north along the merchant’s path towards Snowdonia Station until nightfall then find a safe place to camp for the night – someplace easily defended. We can begin the search at first light.”

The rest of the group voiced their agreement. Isabella mounted her horse and the eight adventurers began their journey with the paladin taking the lead. 

**◄●►**

Isabella kept her horse to the middle of the group for the next hour or so. For a while, she watched Eirik and Ramelik converse before she became lost in her own thoughts. The implications of the importance of her quest on behalf of the church was not the only thing weighing heavily on her mind.

But she could not discuss her concerns with Eirik.

Looking behind her, Isabella saw Isra maintaining the rear of their formation. The older, stalwart Saracen Scout noticed Isabella looking at her and smiled. Isabella returned the gesture with a weak smile of her own and – after a moment’s hesitation – turned her horse around to join Isra.

“Something on your mind, my young friend?”

Isabella thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “I need someone to talk to.”

“How about your bedmate?” Isra said quietly, gesturing towards the front of the group. Isabella blushed. She realized that it was common knowledge that she and Eirik were lovers, but the fact that she was a member of the church still made it difficult to be so open out it. Isra noticed the girl’s unease. “My apologies, Isabella. My husband and I are visitor, and I sometimes forget that natives of this land are much more _brivate_ about such _zings_,” Isra said, exaggerating her mispronunciation. 

Isabella smiled. She delighted in Isra and Suhaym’s exotic accent as well as their often-curious customs. Isra had taught her much about the world beyond Albion’s borders and – as the only other woman in the group – never ceased to be a friend and mother figure during the long absence from her family.

“No,” Isabella said, her smile fading. “I can’t. Not with him.”

Isra narrowed her eyes at Isabella. “Is everything alright? He hasn’t forced himself upon you, has he?”

“No, no! Definitely not.”

“Ah, good.” Isra relaxed. “Um, how is everything with _that_, by the way?”

“Good.” Isabella’s grin betrayed her joy as she tucked her hair behind one ear.

“Ex-cell-ent!” Isra said quietly so as not to attract attention. “So his abilities are not in question. Is he showing you the respect you deserve?”

“Huh? Oh, aye! I think he understands that there is a time in place for everything.”

“Yes, you two seem to celebrate the end of every quest by going at it like hamsters.” Isra wiggled her eyebrows and Isabella smiled sheepishly.

“It’s rather fun to _relax_ after escaping death at the hands of brigands and beasts. I learned _that_ from a married Saracen couple I once met.” Isabella retorted with a wiggle of her own brow. Isra laughed.

“You have yet to face a real monster, Izzie. I hesitate to imagine the two of you after a foray into The Barrows, or some other dungeon!” Isra grinned. “So what is troubling you?” she asked, turning serious again.

“I…,” Isabella hesitated, “I don’t know.” 

Isra held her tongue for a moment and nodded respectfully. “Does Eirik know that this is your final test as an acolyte?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Does he know that you have a decision to make?

Isabella shrugged.

“Do you love him?”

Isabella expected the question, but dreaded it none-the-less. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was the one who wanted to talk, so she had to answer.

“It’s…complicated.”

Isra nodded thoughtfully and considered her young friend’s words for a moment. “Aye, I suppose it is,” she said casually.

“Is that _all_ you have to say?” Isabella was exasperated.

“Isabella, either you love him or you don’t.”

“It’s not that easy!” Isabella fiddled with her crucifix. “It’s the Church. They have rules about this sort of thing.”

Isra rolled her eyes. “I never understood that about you Christians. Madness if you ask me.”

“It is _not_ madness; celibacy is the sacrifice clerics make for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven.” 

“Bloody waste, if you ask me.” The oft-repeated axiomatic line of the Church did little to convince the Saracen. “Besides, doesn’t it just mean you cannot marry? It doesn’t mean you cannot have fun.” Isra clicked her tongue garnering a stern look from the girl.

“_All_ civilized people in this world are called to maintain _chastity_ outside marriage, Isra.”

Isra shrugged. “So it sounds like you have made your decision.”

“Yes. No. _I don’t know_.” Isabella sighed. “But there are…signs.”

“Signs?”

“Aye.”

“What do you mean?”

Isabella hesitated. _That_ subject was too much, too difficult. Even the matronly Isra could not put Isabella enough at ease to discuss it. The dreams, her feelings, and… No, it was impossible. The girl could not put it into words. Over the last three moons, her dreams had become clearer but her feelings towards Eirik and the mysterious young woman had become so utterly confusing. Isabella could not describe it, but she felt a connection with the woman…more so than she did with Eirik despite her immense feelings for the man.

Then there was the most troubling development…

_Three moons…_ Isabella thought, brushing her fingers over her belly.

“I don’t know.” 

Isabella took a deep breath and clutched her cross to her chest. Isra recognized her young friend’s distress in discussing the matter and let it drop. It was obvious to the older woman that Isabella needed to speak with someone more…enlightened. _Much_ more enlightened.

Isra looked to the west and called out to her husband. “Suhaym! It’s time.” Suhaym acknowledged his wife and whistled to Schley at the front of the line.

“What are we doing?” Isabella asked. Isra rode ahead and spoke to Suhaym for a moment before returning to the confused Isabella.

“Come, Isabella. It’s time for _maghrib_.”

“Huh?”

Isra pulled her horse off the path and a short distance from the rest of the group. Dismounting, the Saracen woman tethered her mount to a tree and began rummaging through the horse’s saddlebags. Still curious, Isabella followed suit then watched Isra pull out a small, ornate rug. With Isabella following close behind, the older woman walked down the hill away from their horses until she found a cozy spot in the grass. Isra unrolled the small rug and plopped it on the ground.

“What are you doing?” asked a befuddled Isabella.

“Let’s see…east…” Isra said to herself, looking around and then finally pointing in the correct direction. Turning to her young companion, the Saracen smiled. “Come Isabella, pray with me.”

“What? Oh! I, uh…” 

“I usually take evening prayer with my husband, but tonight I take it with you. Just the ‘sisterhood’ of the group, aye?” Isra said with a wink.

“It’s not that.” Isabella hesitated, touching her crucifix. “I’m not sure I should…”

“Bah! God is the same, no matter by what name you call him or how you pray.”

“Aye, I suppose,” Isabella sighed. “I’m just not sure what to pray for.”

“Guidance, Isabella. Always guidance.”

Isra kneeled on her _sajadah_, motioning for Isabella to join. When the young Christian Acolyte kneeled beside her, Isra began chanting in her native language. Isabella did not understand the words, but the sound of the woman’s voice was calming. The Saracen continued to pray softly and bow several times as Isabella watched with great curiosity. Eventually the young acolyte felt confident that she could join in. Taking a deep breath, she put her hands together and prayed.

_Drihten me raet, ne byth me nanes godes wan.  
And he me geset on swythe good feohland,  
and fedde me be waetera stathum._

It was Isabella’s favorite prayer. She did not completely understand what it meant, or its importance, but it was the first verse her instructor Marrian had taught the acolytes back in the cloister.

The two women continued to pray for several moments. Isra progressed through the _maghrib_, and Isabella repeated the Psalm silently to herself. By the time they had finished, the sun had set behind the western hills, no breeze flowed through the branches, and a hushed lull descended on the land.

**◄●►**

“Eirik?”

The men had all but finished setting up camp when Isra and Isabella returned. Ast’asher was sitting on an old log by the fire, strumming his lute and humming a mournful tune while the rest busied themselves with one task or another. Eirik looked up to see a pensive Isabella standing before him. She watched him stand up and flash his usual reassuring smile.

“Aye?”

Isabella hesitated. “May I join you tonight?”

“You mean…?” Eirik raised an eyebrow.

“No,” she said softly. “Just hold me.” Eirik was about to reply, but Isabella stopped him with a hand to his lips. Eirik took his lover’s hand. Isabella could feel the warmth as Eirik placed a gentle kiss on her fingertips.

“Izzie, may I speak, please?” Isabella waited a moment before nodding. “You don’t have to tell me but I’m here for you. I know this quest is important. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Isabella reached up and started removing the clasps on Eirik’s armor but without her usually urgency. Regardless, Isabella’s heartbeat raced when Eirik moved to return the favor. His fingers popped the clasps on her studded leather tunic one by one. Isabella could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

When the pair was unburdened of their armor, they pulled on extra furs to stave off the chilly night air. Eirik climbed into his bedroll and invited Isabella. By this time the young acolyte was sure that her mind was too preoccupied for her to take advantage of the situation. Curling up against her lover, Isabella reached up and held his head in her small hands for a moment before planting a long kiss on his lips. Releasing the kiss, she took a deep breath and looked into his eyes.

As she had many times, Isabella stared too long searching for a sign in the vision. Eirik was about to speak but Isabella turned over and pulled him close. When Eirik wrapped his arm over her thigh, Isabella held his hand over her belly and sighed.

_Three moons…_

The party bedded for the night around the fire and Suhaym took first watch.

**◄●►**

Isabella ran through the fog. The opaque mist quickly gave way to the partially-shrouded corridors and finally the massive hall in which she always found herself at the end. The dream was the same, but Isabella was different. This time there was no curiosity, no search for deep, hidden meaning, and no hesitancy. Isabella wanted only the truth.

There they were. The man and woman huddled together at the end of the orange-lit hall. Isabella stormed towards the pair.

“Who are you?” she called. The young woman did not look up. She was crying.

When Isabella reach them, she pushed the woman out of the way and grabbed the heavily-armored fighter who lay on the floor. The old man with the greying hair looked back at Isabella, his face taking on a serene expression. Isabella ignored the woman’s sobs and tried to look deep into the man’s eyes.

She saw nothing. _Was it even possible to see a person’s vision within a dream?_ Isabella wondered.

“Who are you?” she asked softly, not expecting an answer. “Eirik?” Isabella sighed. She knew the fighter was dying. She had tried to save him many times but – in the end – there was little she could do. Isabella cradled the man’s head to her bosom and performed the last rites. By now the sobs of the young woman beside her could be ignored no longer.

Isabella turned to the woman whose brown eyes looked so familiar. Looking back at Isabella, the mysterious young woman’s tears began to subside. A weak smile curled her lips, but the sorrow remained. Isabella stared into the woman’s eyes.

The vision appeared. 

It was weak but Isabella recognized it. A young girl – frightened and alone – surrounded by chaos. Isabella gasped and shifted her focus back to the woman’s face. She was beautiful. The fighter was dead, but there was still hope for the young woman. Isabella felt there was nothing she would not do to help her. It was this devotion to a woman she was not sure even existed that confused Isabella most of all.

“Who are you?” Isabella asked. Her voice had lost its urgency. “Please tell me.” The young woman simply stared back at Isabella, her cheeks stained with tears. Isabella held the woman’s face in her hands and felt a pull. She could not help herself as she leaned in to kiss the young woman.

“Help!” The cry came from behind. Isabella looked up. The castle was dissolving and with it the dream.

“No!” she yelled.

**◄●►**

“Get up! We’re under attack!”

Isabella gasped as she was jostled awake. Suhaym had already engaged several of the attackers with his rapier and shield, and their campfire revealed more than a dozen more robed men and women swarming their camp.

An arrow whizzed past Isabella. Eirik leapt over Isabella as she scrambled out of the way. Behind her, Isra nocked another arrow a mere heartbeat after felling one of the men attacking her husband. 

Filidh – druids that wondered the countryside and practiced the heretical worship of the old gods – launched themselves at the eight adventurers. Despite wearing little beyond cloth robes and wielding only wooden staves, the filidh more than made up for their primitive technology with their blind zeal. With barely enough time to grab their weapons, most of the companions fought off the aggressors without any protection. 

Still crouched on the ground, Isabella grabbed her mace and shield and rolled out of the way of an incoming attack. The filidh slammed his staff into the ground where Isabella’s head had just been. When he tried to swipe at her again, Eirik thrust his left sword into the attacker’s back. The green blade of Timber Walker’s Defender erupted from the filidh’s sternum. The filidh choked as his lungs filled with blood. Eirik ripped the short blade back out and the filidh slumped to the ground, dead.

Behind her, Isabella hear a cry of distress. Ast’asher, with little more than a dagger and his lute, was trying to fend off a burly attacker. With little time to prepare a spell, Glithiel ran to the minstrel’s aid with his staff as his only weapon. The pair held out for a moment until the filidh clubbed Ast’asher in the side of the head. The minstrel fell to the ground holding the bloody gash across his temple. However before the filidh could finish him off, Ramelik appeared. The friar swung his heavy staff low and the filidh howled in agony as his left femur shattered. His cries ceased when Ramelik followed through with the other end of his staff, collapsing the filidh’s chest and killing him.

Isabella scrambled to her feet and fought back to back with Eirik as they tried to join their companions. Ramelik protected Glithiel, allowing the theurgist to cast his spells. Three filidh found themselves rooted to the ground by frozen tendrils of ice, making them easy targets for Isra’s arrows.

With their opponent’s advantage lost, the companions regrouped and formed a protective circle around Isabella who began healing Ast’asher. The remaining filidh continued the fight until a bright light pierced the gloom.

“Interlopers!” The fighting stopped. All eyes turned to the source of the magical light. An old man with a greying beard and wielding a crooked staff glowered at the companions from the edge of the forest.

“Harrish!” Eirik cursed. “Where are the villagers you took?”

“We took no one!” Harrish boomed, his voice strong and arrogant. “They have joined us! Together we will unleash a tremendous power upon Camelot and all those who oppose us!”

At the head of the group, Schley gestured to his companions. “Look at us, Harrish. Even without armor we survived your ambush with little more than a scratch.” The paladin smirked. “Do you truly believe your tiny band of heretics is going to survive the night?”

“I don’t know, paladin. You tell me.” Harrish smiled and the magical light at the end of his staff bloomed, illuminating dozens more of his followers lurking under the cover of the dark forest. 

Eirik took a deep breath. “Bugger.”

“Aw shite,” Schley added.

Isabella sighed. It was never a good sign when Eirik was worried, and it was even worse when Schley was. A cacophony of bloodthirsty cries erupted from the crowd of filidh beside Harrish. The eight adventurers huddled closer together, their weapons at the ready.

“Any ideas?” someone asked.

Harrish began cackling and the din of the screaming filidh echoed throughout the forest. It looked hopeless for the companions until a single arrow sailed out from between Eirik and Schley straight for Harrish’s head. The shouts of victory abruptly ceased and the druid leader’s smile faded immediately as Suhaym’s arrow closed in…only to bounce harmlessly off a magical shield.

Everything was silent for a breath as all eyes remained fixed on Harrish whose lips curled into an evil grin.

“You’ll have to do better…” A second arrow – this time from Isra’s bow – cut him off. Striking Harrish in the chest with a solid _thunk_, the bodkin arrowhead embedded itself deep into the old man’s right lung.

The filidh minions all gasped in unison as they watched their leader stagger, then fall backwards onto the ground. A breath later, each and every one of Harrish’s followers scattered, screaming in terror. Isabella and her companions watched as the forest cleared leaving them alone with the dying Harrish and the corpses of several of his followers.

No one dared move for many breaths until they were certain the last of the filidh had all fled. The adventurers all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Thank Christ!” Ramelik exclaimed. “Ow!” Isabella punched the friar in the arm – punishment for his disrespectful tone.

“Thank the Zafars, more like it, aye?” Schley remarked with another sigh. The paladin cautiously approached the edge of the forest with his party close behind. There they found Harrish struggling for breath, clutching the arrow in his chest. The old man’s eyes burned with rage and a trickle of blood spilled from his lips as he struggled to speak.

“The cycle of my life has ended. Let my rebirth be the seed of your undoing!” Harrish coughed and sputtered for a moment until the last breath left his body. The party stood before the dead man, waiting for something else to happen.

“He wasn’t so tough,” Ramelik commented, finally breaking the silence. Eirik rolled his eyes. Ast’asher, still holding his pounding head, pushed through his companions to inspect their now-dead adversary.

“What the hell just happened?” Ast’asher asked.

“Bladeturn,” Isra answered

“What?”

“It’s a mage’s spell. God knows where Harrish learned it though. It deflects physical blows.”

“A _single_ physical blow,” Glithiel clarified. 

Schley chuckled. “It would appear that Harrish didn’t know that.” The paladin sheathed his two-handed great sword and turned to Isra and Suhaym. “Well done, friends. Ye saved our hides.”

While the rest of her companions congratulated each other and took stock of the state of their camp, Isabella cautiously crept closer to Harrish’s body. The young acolyte could not shake a deep sense of dread. The druid’s final words seemed more than a curse; they sounded like a promise. The sounds of her companions voices faded as Isabella studied dead man before her. 

She knew something was amiss. She knew she should say something.

_Eirik?!_ Isabella tried to speak but there was no sound. She was rooted to the spot and her gaze locked onto Harrish’s still-open eyes, as she was pulled into a vision. Isabella tried to break free of the unknown terror. Seemingly far off in the distance, she heard one of her companions speaking.

“Say, what do you think Harrish meant by – ?” 

Isabella’s terrified screams interrupted the question.

Eirik raced to his lover and pulled her out of the way in time to see a ghostly mist rising from Harrish’s body. The rest of the party cursed and drew their weapons.

The glowing mist poured from Harrish’s eyes, nose, and mouth and coalesced into an eight-foot apparition of the man himself. The ghost possessed eyes of empty sockets and brandished an ethereal staff enveloped in black mist. The Shade of Harrish cackled, his voice hollow and terrifying.

“Fools!” the Shade shouted as he lunged at the companions. “Now see my true power as I continue to battle after death!”

Isabella backed away, sticking close to Glithliel and Ast’asher, while the more heavily-armed members of the group attacked the Shade. Schley was first in line as she swung his mighty two-handed sword. However, the steel blade passed right through the apparition as if through air. Schley’s swing knocked him off balance, giving Harrish an easy target. The eight-foot ghost swung the smoking staff, connecting solidly with the paladin’s sturdy plate armor. Schley went hurtling through the air directly into Ramelik.

“Fuck!” the friar cursed as the two men sailed several yards before finally coming to a stop.

Isabella gasped, and Glithliel chanted. When the theurgist’s spell was complete, a white mist surrounded the ghost. Harrish laughed and walked through the cold spell unabated. Eirik, Isra, and Suhaym attacked in unison, but their weapons were useless against a being of the netherworld. Harrish continued to advance, his eyes firmly set on Isabella. Glithliel released spell after spell to no avail until his power was exhausted. Eirik and the Zafars dodged the otherworldly staff that the Shade brandished as they did their best to distract him.

Isra stumbled and Harrish swung his staff. The Saracen woman screamed, but was yanked out of harm’s way at the last breath. Racing to rejoin his companions, Schley grabbed Isra by her cloak pulling her aside, but at great cost. Already wounded from the Shade’s first attack, Schley crumpled under the magical effects of the ethereal staff. Eirik tried to block Harrish from finishing off his companion, but Harrish kicked him aside. 

Eirik landed hard, breaking his nose. When the he rolled over, trying to get up, Isabella could see his face covered in blood. Isabella tried to call to Eirik, but her voice was frozen and her body quaked with fear. She turned back to Harrish who scoffed at the mercenary before addressing the prone warrior on the ground before him.

“Be the first to die, paladin!”

Harrish raised his ethereal staff high, bringing it down upon the helpless Schley but Suhaym intercepted the strike with this targe.

“Suhaym!” Isra screamed in horror when she saw her husband buckle and fall under the blow. Harrish laughed – the sound booming throughout the surrounding hills. 

“Pitiful insects! You will all die this night!”

Harrish continued to laugh as he raised his staff high in the air to strike down his victims. When the smoking black staff reached full height, the sky above Harrish began to crackle with energy. The small glow grew brighter, gaining Harrish’s attention who looked up furrowing his brow in confusion. The ghost emitted a curious grunt when suddenly the glow pulsed and a bolt of lightning streaked from the sky.

Harrish screamed in agony as the bolt coursed down his staff and through his body on its way to the earth. The shade staggered. Realization set in and Harrish looked up in terror at the source of the spell.

All eyes turned to the young Isabella. The crackling remnant of the spell surrounded the young acolyte’s hands as it dissipated. Isabella gulped and panted. The fear was subsiding but it was still there, and the exertion of the spell combined with it to make Isabella’s knee weak. 

Harrish, his form smoking, realized his vulnerability to the divine attack and roared in anger when he saw Isabella begin the incantation again.

“No!”

But it was too late. Isabella repeatedly called forth God’s Judgement as the bolts of lightning burned Harrish’s ghostly Shade to ash. Soon there was nothing left of the man who had cursed the Church and had drawn the sons and daughters of Humberton into his own cult.

The nighttime forest of the Black Mountains was quiet once again. The companions stared at Isabella, unsure of what to make of what just happened. Isabella stood beside a confused Ast’asher, her lip quivering and her eyes wet. When she tried to take a step forward, Isabella fell to her knees and began to sob. 

Still in pain, Eirik staggered over to his lover and wrapped his arms around her. Isabella buried her face in his neck as her sobs grew louder. The rest of Isabella’s companions, bruised and battered, gathered around the young acolyte and held her tightly.

**◄●►**

Dawn approached. The lavender hues that signaled the sunrise began to encroach on the starry night. Isabella sat next to Eirik, clutching her knees. Exhausted and drained from the fight, Isabella had to watch Ramelik tend to the party’s injuries. Along with Isra’s potions – to which _no one_ raised an objection – the Friar used his rudimentary abilities to heal the eight adventurers. It was not perfect, but eventually everyone was strong enough to travel.

The companions began to break camp, which they now realized was in a worse state than they were. Their supplies were scattered and two of the horses were missing. The return to Humberton and Camelot was going to be difficult. But Isabella’s mind was otherwise distracted.

Isabella thought about the fight. It was not the vision she witnessed in Harrish’s dead eyes. The heretic was gone and whatever unholy influence he had once held over death had been banished along with him. Instead she thought about the friends she nearly lost. What if the unthinkable happened? Would she have been able to bring them back from death? And Eirik – she had nearly lost Eirik.

“Izzie?”

Isabella turned to Eirik. He looked concerned. The young acolyte wiped her eyes and tried to smile.

“You saved us.”

_Oh, God, he is too sweet._

“That…spell, it was the only thing that could touch the Shade. Without it, we might be dead.”

“Aye. I know.” Isabella heaved a tremendous, quivering breath. “I just never thought I would have to use such a spell.”

“Why?”

Isabella hid her face. “It hurts. I’m a healer, Eirik. I don’t like to kill even in self-defense.”

“But Harrish was a monster.”

Isabella simply nodded.

“You know what?” Isabella asked after a long silence.

“What?”

“If I lived my whole life and never saw another ghost again, I would be perfectly happy.” She looked up at Eirik who seemed a little unsure how to respond. Isabella smiled and the two adventurers shared a gentle laugh.

The company broke camp and mounted their remaining horses. Isabella rode with Eirik on his horse, clutching him tightly from behind.

**◄●►**

The people of Humberton were overjoyed and received their prodigal children with open arms. The young men and women who had been lured by Harrish’s empty promises had arrived in Humberton the day before Isabella and her companions. As thanks for her and her friends’ service, Lord Belef gave the town’s tithe – and then some – to Isabella for delivery to the Church of Albion. But it was late when the party arrived in Camelot, and Lady Winchell would have to wait until morning. The _Scrapwood Tavern_ beckoned.

“Were you able to retrieve what you needed from the vault keeper?” Isabella asked.

“Aye.” Eirik was the last to rejoin the companions after having stowed his armor, however Isabella noticed that he still carried his pack.

As the rest of the party members eagerly filed into the tavern, Isabella fell to the back of the crowd and paused. When Eirik looked back, he could see the girl’s apprehension.

“Eirik?” Isabella wrung her hands nervously. Eirik approached; his ever-present warm smile was comforting to the young acolyte.

“Aye,” he paused, “You wish to speak?”

Isabella looked down at her twitchy fingers. She realized what she was doing but she had no idea what to do with her hands. The two of them were alone outside the tavern, and well out of range of any interlopers. “Y-yes.” The young acolyte nervously approached her friend and placed her hands on his chest for support.

“Eirik, I-I…” _Oh, God, why is this so hard_, she cried silently. Isabella took a deep breath before looking into Eirik eyes. The gifted young woman could not help but look deep into the man’s soul and see…Isabella hesitated. Her best friend looked back at her and smiled. “I-I…you know that I have a decision…”

“Aye, I do.” Eirik placed his hands over the acolyte’s and squeezed. Isabella took a deep breath.

“It’s not an easy decision. The Church,” she stammered, “they have rules. Rules about…” Eirik cut her off with a finger to her lips. 

The confused girl stood there as Eirik pulled off his backpack and produced something large and heavy wrapped in linen.

“Here.” Eirik presented it to Isabella.

“What is it?”

“Take it,” Eirik replied, smiling. Isabella nearly fell over when the mysterious item dropped into her arms. Upon unwrapping it, she stood in silence for many heartbeats. It was an exquisite War Hammer: the weapon of a cleric. The golden-hued hammer was made of arcanium – the hardest alloy known in Albion. The smith responsible for forging it had carved it specifically for a cleric – inscribing it with runes sanctioned only by the Church of Albion. But apart from the fine craftsmanship, the hammer was imbued several enchantments, some of which Isabella could not even begin to understand. She realized it must have cost Eirik a fortune. Isabella looked back to her companion with tears forming in her eyes.

“You…you knew,” she accused. “How did you…?”

“I’ve always known, Isabella.” Eirik brushed a tear from the girl’s cheek. “Sometimes you just know. I can see that your heart belongs with the Church, and I accept that. I would be lying if I said it is what I wanted for you…for us.” Eirik paused as if he had more to say. Isabella looked down at the hammer again and gasped.

“I don’t deserve this, Eirik. I cannot even use it yet.”

“You will! You will use it someday – sooner than you know.” Eirik placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “Your destiny lies on another path and I know you will find it, Izzie. I only pray that I will remain a part of your journey and that I am there with you when you find it.”

Tears began streaming down Isabella’s cheeks again; only this time they were tears of joy. The young woman reached up with her free hand and embraced the tall Highlander in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Eirik!” she whispered before planting a long kiss on his cheek. “My love for you may have changed, but it will always be just as strong. You know that.”

“Aye.” Eirik watched his friend and former lover stare at her new hammer in awe. The mercenary chuckled. “Now go and show the rest of them your gift. I will join you soon.”

Isabella beamed liked a child with a new toy. “Don’t be long!” she shouted as she ran into the tavern.

Eirik watched his friend disappear into the crowded tavern, his smile slowly fading. Heaving a sigh, the stout fighter opened his pack, produced a long wooden staff, and inspected it. The staff was a smoky gray color and carved from the rare wood of the duskwood tree. Tough as iron but with half the weight, the staff was perfectly balanced for use by a friar. The staff that Eirik held also possessed its share of enchantments. Eirik stared at the sturdy weapon for a long time until he noticed he was not alone.

A young woman – perhaps a little older than Isabella – stood in the dark alley beside the _Scrapwood Tavern_ admiring the staff. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun revealing her somewhat gaunt features. Her robes revealed her profession as that of a friar, but they were old and ragged. She shrank back slightly when Eirik turned to her.

“What is your name, girl?” he asked.

“K-Koi, sir. Koi Po-.”

“Here,” Eirik said, cutting her off and holding out the staff.

“What?” The young woman could not believe her ears.

“Take it.” Eirik approached the young friar. “It’s yours.” With the staff in hand, the friar looked up at the Highlander. Eirik sighed. “Use it well.” With that, Eirik joined his companions.

**◄●** **⌛●►**

Isabella was silent for a moment. Abaigeal’s reaction was not unexpected, but the only indication of the young woman’s anger was in her eyes.

“Abbie, I swear to you that I loved your father.” Abaigeal saw the pained look in Isabella’s bright green eyes and felt ashamed.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“You have every right to be angry.” Isabella gripped her lover’s hand tightly in her own. The older woman knew that her story would create tremendous conflict of emotions and loyalties in Abaigeal, but she had to know everything.

“Eirik understood,” Isabella continued. “And perhaps I was being selfish, but my own feelings confused and frightened me. Not to mention the signs that told me our relationship was not to be.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.” 

Isabella bit her lip before answering. “Abbie, your father and I had been together for several moons.” Abaigeal just stared, not comprehending. “Together that long and I had not yet conceived his child.” 

Realization dawned on Abaigeal. 

“You _wanted_ to be with child?!”

“Aye,” Isabella replied. “I’ve always wanted children and part of me wanted children with your father. If I became pregnant, then I would have an excuse to join The Defenders of Albion as a friar and remain with Eirik.” Isabella scoffed. “Saying it out loud makes me realize how young and stupid I was.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that…” Abaigeal said, clutching her pillow.

“At first I had thought – had hoped – that it meant Eirik was not the one to father my children. H-he once mentioned a fever as a child…I assumed he could not…” A tear rolled down Isabella’s cheek. “But upon translating your mother’s journal, I learned of you and I realized that it was me: _I_ was the one who could not bear children.” Isabella sniffed, the tears beginning to stream down her face. “Regardless, it was God’s way of telling me to let go of your father.” Abaigeal cradled the woman’s head to her bosom for many breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” Abaigeal whispered repeatedly. The sound of the young woman’s voice, coupled with her scent and the feel of skin, washed the grief from Isabella’s heart. Isabella finally sat up and clutched her lover’s face. A few gentle kisses later and she was ready to continue.

“Please don’t be sad.” Abaigeal did not know what else to say.

“I’ve come to accept it, Abbie.” Isabella gave her lover a peck on the tip of her nose and sighed deeply. “I pledged myself to a life of celibacy and service with the Church and – for the five summers that I knew him – Eirik never took another lover. But your father and I were still the best of friends and – along with the rest of our companions – brothers in adventure.” Isabella took a deep breath. “Which made it even harder to forgive him.”

“Forgive him for what?”

**◄●⌛●►**


	7. Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published May 4th, 2020

_Darkness Falls: Five years later._

“Eirik!” Isabella yelled.

“Forget him! He’s gone!” Ramelik swung his staff and intercepted the charging Lurikeen before he had a change to get close to Isabella. The tiny stalker had made a beeline the cleric the moment he saw her attention shift from the battle but he was now sailing through the air back towards his companions, compliments of “Friar Delivery Services.” 

Isabella pull herself off the ground, the Eldritch’s blast having knocked her off her feet despite her shield bearing the brunt of the spell’s force. When she recovered, she was in for an even greater shock. Her worst fears had come to pass and she had witnessed her friend abandoning them in the midst of a fight for their lives. Their numbers were short and – to make matters worse – the distracted succubae were returning to the fray. Isabella and her companions could weather a fight against the Hibernian party or the denizens of Darkness Falls but not both.

Isabella watched in horror as the battle turned disastrous. 

Nearby Glithiel began chanting, but before his spell fired, two arrows pierced his chest in succession. The Avalonian fell to his knees clutching the entry points and groaned in agony. Working through the pain, he released his spell and the charging Firbolg – that meant to finish him off – was frozen in his tracks. Glithiel smiled despite the pain but was immediately hit with another pair of arrows. The white-haired Avalonian collapsed dead on the stone floor of the cavern. 

The party’s archers fared no better. 

“Suhaym!” Isra cried out as the claws of a passing succubus snatched her husband. Crying out for help, Suhaym was dropped into a group of the beast women who tore into him. Isra, blinded by her anguish, dove in to help and was immediately enveloped by the swarm.

Ramelik charged on the frozen Firbolg and swung his staff at its head. The coating of ice shattered and the Firbolg fell unconscious onto the stone floor of the dungeon. The friar looked pleased with himself until he noticed a black mist surrounding his body. Ramelik’s eyes bulged and he felt his skin burning with the dark energies of the Hibernian magic until Isabella’s healing spell countered the attack.

Thanking God for his deliverance, Ramelik looked up just in time to see a black orb hurtling towards him. Ramelik was blown back against the far wall of the cavern. His skin burning, the friar managed to pull himself up to see the lifeless body of the group’s minstrel lying in a pool of blood. Schley, the only other remaining member of the group, stood a few yards before them – blocking arrows with his shield – until he, too, was overwhelmed by the dungeon’s daemons.

“Izzie!” Ramelik’s body seethed with pain. Isabella turned in time to see him coughing up blood. “Run!” 

Isabella panicked. Leaving her friends behind was unthinkable, but Ramelik made the decision for her. Before the second bolt of energy from the Eldritch hit her, the friar leapt to his feet and knocked Isabella out of the way. He was not fast enough. Although spared the majority of the blast, Isabella felt the spell’s residual tendrils of dark, swirling energy snake through her porous chain armor. She screamed in pain and fell to the ground frantically trying to remove her tunic.

Flinging her coif from her head, Isabella pulled frantically at the clasps on her chain tunic as the painful mist stung her skin. But an arrow in her thigh proved a more immediate concern. Isabella grabbed her leg and screamed as she tried to stand up.

“Rame!” Isabella yelled, looking for her friend as she stumbled a few feet and took shelter behind a nearby stone outcropping. Ramelik did not respond. Isabella turned around and saw the friar’s body lying on the dungeon’s stone floor, his left leg still twitching. Tears of agony and anguish streamed from Isabella’s eyes when she realized Ramelik had sacrificed himself for her. Isabella was now the only one left. 

The sharp cry of a few succubae attacking the Hibernian party drew her attention. The dungeon’s beasts would provide her with some time but Isabella knew the Celts and their allies would prevail and soon come for her. She refused to let Ramelik’s sacrifice be in vain.

Leaning to the side, Isabella carefully searched for an escape. Several yards down one of the corridors, she saw the answer to her prayers. The magical glowing portal was a remnant of the wizards who first surveyed the dungeon a century ago. The portals’ were unpredictable but they always led to safety.

Isabella took a deep breath and stood. The pain in her left leg was unimaginable. The arrow was going to make the sprint nearly impossible but she had no choice. Peeking over the rock, whose protection was becoming more tenuous by the second, Isabella waited for the right moment before limping as fast as she could towards the portal. 

Cries of alarm erupted from behind her and Isabella pushed herself hard towards her salvation. Her left boot scraped across the stone with increasing tempo. Isabella focused on the portal, ignoring the shouts behind her. She was going to make, she thought. And by God she was going to make Eirik pay for this!

Nearing the threshold, Isabella sucked in her breath, ready to dive through the gate of swirling, mystical energy until one last bolt of energy slammed into her back, pushing her through the portal. 

**◄●►**

In a lonely outpost far to the north, the calamitous din of crashing armor interrupted the quiet evening. A blood-covered cleric appeared out of thin air and landed hard on the raised stone portal in the castle’s open central ward. Recognizing one of their own, the soldiers of the Albion portal keep rushed to Isabella’s aid. Isabella groaned in agony as the soldiers carefully pulled her to her feet. When she looked up, Isabella saw the keep’s doors close behind Eirik and the Celt girl he had just rescued. 

Despite the pain, Isabella seethed with rage and spat a wad of blood towards the door. Noticing such out-of-character behavior from a cleric, a cloaked Saracen – who had been assisting in Isabella’s rescue – eyed the doors for a moment before following the pair.

**◄●** **⌛●►**

Isabella watched Abaigeal closely for her reaction to her story so far. The young woman sat at the end of the bed with her legs tucked beneath her. Her face was nearly blank except her mouth agape. When she noticed Isabella scrutinizing her, Abaigeal’s trance broke and her eyes widened. After a few more moments of silence, Abaigeal’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she searched for the words.

“I don’t understand. Wh-why did he do that? My father abandoned you!” Isabella reached over and touched the young woman’s hand.

“Abaigeal, you must understand something about your father: he was trying to save your mother. What he did to us was not out of malice.” Isabella sighed. “Yes, your father acted without considering the consequences. We may have even survived if not for a tragic stroke of bad luck. Or we may have _all_ perished – your mother and father included – had he not acted quickly.” Abaigeal was speechless. Isabella could see the conflict of emotions on the young woman’s face. Abaigeal wiped a few tears from her eyes.

“But another way of looking at it is fate, Abaigeal. As I said before: if Eirik had not saved your mother…” Isabella smiled and stroked Abaigeal’s hair, allowing her a moment to recall their previous conversation. After a few more tears, Abaigeal nodded solemnly and looked back up at her companion.

“And what of you? You described horrific injuries. How did you cope?” Abaigeal asked with genuine concern. 

Isabella heaved a great sigh before continuing her story.

**◄●** **⌛●►**

_One moon later._

Deep in the catacombs below the largest church in Albion, a tall woman shrouded in a black cloak made her way past the seemingly endless chambers of sarcophagi. The crypts running beneath Camelot were nearly empty of the living save for a few shadowy figures performing their heretical ceremonies. The cloaked woman had just left one such ceremony and now yearned for the open air and light of the city above. As she climbed the stairs towards the surface, the sun filtered through a mosaic window casting a beautiful kaleidoscope of color across the tiled floor of the church. The woman paused.

Tilting her head, the hood of her cloak fell back allowing her face and long, dark hair to soak up the warmth of the late-spring sun. Elsewhere in the cathedral the woman could hear the low voices of men chanting which, coupled with the warmth and colors, brought her a relaxing sense of peace. With no sense of urgency, she lingered in the church hallway until feminine voices drew her attention.

The door to the room by which she stood was open. Approaching quietly, the woman peeked inside. The room – the church’s _infirmaria_ – was a smaller version of the main church nave and served as quiet place to heal the sick and injured – the pews having been replaced with a handful of beds. The stone walls of the small, intimate room were lined with tapestries that depicted people and events that the spying woman cared little about. Her focus was fixed firmly on the people inside; specifically, the young woman who was at the center of attention.

A diminutive Briton woman stood in a shallow bath as several nuns removed bandages and gently poured ladles of warm water over her naked body. Steam rose from the woman’s skin in the chilly morning air. The raven-haired woman watched and wondered what ridiculous Church ceremony this was until she noticed the faint pink signs of recent injuries on the young woman’s body. 

The injured woman’s back was to the door so the interloper could see nothing more than her bare posterior. The surreptitious observer stared at the swell of the woman’s hips with admiration until one of the nuns untied the young woman’s hair. The cloaked woman’s lips parted in awe as the light brown locks of hair brushed across the young woman’s freckled shoulders. Another nun tilted the young woman’s head back and began pouring water over her head.

The sun poured through a high window directly on the young woman. The raven-haired woman stood entranced as the water shimmered in the sun and gave the young woman a sparkling aura. That is, until one of the nuns noticed the voyeur. 

“You there! Reaver! Get out!” the plump, old woman scolded as she set down a jar of salve and waddled towards the door. The young woman turned her head slightly in an attempt to see the source of the commotion and absent-mindedly covered her bosom with her arms. The intruder noticed the melancholy look on the young woman’s face and took a step back before the large, round nun pushed the door closed in her face. 

Smirking, Pernilla the Reaver followed turn back to the hallway and exited the Church before anyone else took offence at her presence.

**◄●►**

As the sun began to set on the city, the citizens of Camelot shifted their focus from work to activities of a more festive nature. All about the city, small pockets of celebrations started up for no other reason than to celebrate the end of another day. It was in a room above a tavern hosting one such party that Pernilla prepared for another night.

The Reaver brushed her wavy black hair down around her shoulders and examined her attire. Pernilla’s dark-red leather tunic clung to her torso and augmented her bosom while her black leggings hid none of what she felt were her less-appreciated features. Finishing her ensemble with high, black boots that added another few inches to her already tall frame, Pernilla smiled wickedly and walked out of her room onto the balcony.

After a few flights down the exterior staircase, the music and cheering assaulted the woman’s ears and she entered the large tavern that made up the main hall of the _Scrapwood Tavern_. Although this was her favorite inn, it was not her usual; it took a lot of gold to stay at the _Scrapwood_ and Pernilla was not a rich woman. But her lack of great wealth was never a concern. The Reaver was happy to get by with what she had and – despite her modest means – she was never at a loss for entertainment.

Pernilla walked across the hall and through the crowd attracting the eyes of almost everyone she passed by. The woman adored the attention and added a slight sway to her step. She had left her weapons that identified her profession in her room and was able to walk unchallenged through her favorite establishments. At the bar, she ordered a drink. Flashing five silvers and a glimpse of cleavage she obtained her order quickly and leaned up against the bar surveying the room.

A few dozen rowdy patrons sat and ingested their meals and imbibed heavily at several large tables that filled the center of the tavern. Pernilla noticed the barmaids working the tables and receiving the attentions of the men. Grinning at their antics, she turned her attention to the outlying booths. It was there Pernilla found something worthy of a second look.

In the far corner of the hall, in a dimly-lit booth, sat the young woman Pernilla had seen in the church. From her vantage, she could ascertain no more about her than she already knew. The woman cursed her eyes, leaned back, and whispered in the barkeep’s ear. The muscular man furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“Steer clear o’ that one, lass. She’s a Prelate: a woman o’ God.” Pernilla set her mug down and stared at the young woman for a moment before turning to the barkeep.

“What’s she doing here?”

“Dunno, never seen ‘er ‘ere before.”

“Then how do you know…”

“She paid me with this,” the man said as he slapped a silver piece on the counter. Pernilla scrutinized coin closely but found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I don’t follow you, Hal? What’s this got to do with the Church? It’s just normal silver.” Hal pointed to a small cross on the edge of the coin.

“Marked by the Church so they can keep track o’ it. So either she’s a cleric or a thief. And I’ve ne’er seen a thief that depressed-looking in a room o’ drunk folk with ill-defended purses.” Pernilla crooked a smile.

“Depressed you say?” Pernilla turned around and grinned at her quarry. 

“Aye.”

“What’s she drinking?”

The barkeep leveled his gaze at Pernilla and carefully set the mug down on the bar. A clean-shaven and proper man, Hal almost seemed out of place running the type of establishment known for its raucous nature. However, Hal’s girth was almost entirely muscle and he could look imposing when he needed. As the new owner of the tavern, Hal fared well enough.

When Pernilla realized no reply was forthcoming, she turned back to Hal. Her smile faded slightly when she saw the look on the barkeep’s face.

“Listen, lass,” Hal said, his voice firm and even. “I know who you are and _what_ you are. The powers that be may tolerate your kind, but…”

Pernilla casually slid five more silver coins across the wooden bar, her eyes never leaving Hal’s.

“Water.” 

Pernilla looked at the barkeep incredulously. “She’s drinking _water_?” she asked. Hal nodded. “Should have guessed,” she said under her breath. “Another mead please, Hal.” 

Taking the extra mug, Pernilla waded through the sea of people. As she approached her quarry, she was able to discern more about her. The young cleric was wrapped tightly in a brown cloak whose plain color masked its fine craftsmanship. By her attire and the out-of-the-way booth she had chosen, it was obvious to Pernilla that the cleric was trying to avoid attention. And Hal was right, she seemed quite forlorn indeed.

“May I join thee, m’lady?” Pernilla asked, her voice taking on an unusually polite tone. Startled by the interruption, the cleric turned to see who had asked and Pernilla got her first full glimpse of the young woman’s face. Her skin looked unblemished betraying her young age. Pernilla guessed she was only a few years younger than herself, perhaps twenty seasons. 

The young woman’s rounded face possessed a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Pernilla, facing her one true weakness, suppressed a moan. _A face without freckles is like a night without stars_, she thought. Framing her face beautifully, the young cleric’s light-brown hair made her heritage difficult to discern, but Pernilla dismissed the question from her mind when she saw her sad, green eyes. 

The young cleric stared at Pernilla uncertainly for a long time. Finally she spoke.

“I-I suppose. Please have a seat.” The cleric’s voice was like silk on Pernilla’s ears. Pernilla was certain she detected a slight country accent, although she was not sure if the cleric had shed it, or was trying to hide it.

“Thank ye!” The jovial Reaver plopped herself down on the bench across from the cleric and offered her the drink. The young woman eyed the drink cautiously and took a sniff. A flood of memories accompanied the mead’s earthy aroma. Wrinkling up her nose the cleric pushed the mug back towards her guest.

“No thank you, I don’t…anymore.”

“Oh come on, young miss! You’re in a tavern for God’s sake!” The cleric gingerly took the drink and brought it to her lips. Pernilla emphasized her next sentence with a wink. “Even clerics need a little fun now and then, aye?” The young woman’s green eyes flashed wide in surprise and she hesitated for another moment before taking a sip of the drink. The bubbling liquid seemed foul at first, but the sweet taste encouraged the cleric to take her first gulps of alcohol in nearly five years. Pernilla looked on, a wide smile across her face.

“What’s your name, lass?” the Reaver asked. The cleric looked over the mug in the midst of the last swallow.

“Isabella,” she replied setting the empty mug down on the table. 

“Pretty name, that is.” Pernilla smiled thoughtfully at her. “I’m Pernilla.”

“Please to meet thee, Pernilla.” Isabella’s voice was hollow. The Reaver watched the young cleric for a short time. Isabella avoided the older woman’s gaze by staring out into the crowded tavern.

“What’s troubling you, little one?” Pernilla leaned in close and propped her elbows on the table. Isabella drew back slightly and cast her eyes downward. Pernilla’s attentions troubled Isabella, and being addressed as “little one” disturbed her more so.

“What makes you think I’m troubled?”

“It’s written all over your face, lass. And don’t you think it’s curious that you sit alone amongst such a festive crowd?” 

Isabella frowned. “I…I just want to be around people.”

“And yet… not,” the Reaver replied after moment’s thought. Nearby, a trio of minstrels – having just begun their performance – caught the pair’s attention. It was a lively tune to match the atmosphere in the _Scrapwood Tavern_. A girl – barely a woman – danced while accompanying the older, male pipe player with her lute. The other minstrel sat behind them keeping time on his drum. All about the hall, the patrons began dancing. Pernilla watched for a while then formed an idea. 

“Care for a dance, little one?” she asked turning back to the cleric. Isabella shook her head vigorously as though she had been offered a pet spriggarn, and a particularly foul-tempered one at that. Unperturbed, Pernilla shrugged. “Suit thyself,” she said with a wink and got up to dance. Relieved, Isabella leaned back in her booth and watched the woman closely.

It did not take a wizard to discern Pernilla’s profession, but Isabella could tell she was concealing more than her devotion to Arawn – the so-called lord of the underworld. The young cleric regarded the Reaver as she danced a few yards from her booth. 

At the behest of the Church of Albion, King Arthur had driven the servants of Arawn out of Albion decades ago. However, Arthur’s death – and the war to stave off the aggression of Hibernia and Midgard – had placed the ruling council in a difficult position. The heretics had been allowed to return, but only if they aided in the defense of Camelot. But most importantly they had to conceal their identities from the public. Few bothered to heed to call. If the sting of betrayal so many years ago had not been enough to discourage the Arawnites, then the constant persecution of those that did return was.

Isabella had never met a servant of Arawn before. Most of the priests of Arawn kept to the catacombs beneath Camelot. They were said to possess terrifying, unnatural magic that – although similar to that of a cleric’s – was an abomination and an affront to God. Reavers – on the other hand – were much easier to understand; they were the brute force of Awawn’s legions: fierce and sadistic melee fighters upon whom Arawn also bestowed the gift of magic. Why _this_ one was so keen on her, Isabella did not know but it worried her immensely.

Pernilla dance nimbly amongst the crowd, paying attention to none of the other dancers. Isabella watched her undulate and hop to the beat of the music. Each time she turned to Isabella, Pernilla would flash a smile and wink. Isabella flushed when she realized what Pernilla was doing. The young cleric could see the passion in the woman with each glimpse into her brown eyes. Isabella grew terribly uncomfortable and squirmed in her seat.

Pernilla eventually made her way through the crowd to the girl with the lute. The young minstrel smiled at the older woman’s attentions and danced alongside Pernilla. Isabella was astounded by the Reaver’s audacity and decided that the girl was oblivious to the woman’s intentions. 

_Most likely hoping for a large tip_, the cleric thought. 

The troubadours finished their song and immediately started up another. Pernilla continued dancing with the girl, this time letting her hands wander down the young minstrel’s torso and rest upon her hips. Leaning down, older woman whispered something in the girl’s ear. When the two women began swaying their hips in unison and both glancing seductively at Isabella, the cleric decided it was time to leave.

Pernilla grinned as she watched the cleric get up and hastily exit the hall. Slipping her a few coins, Pernilla gave the beautiful young lute player a peck on the cheek and went off in search of her cleric. The raven-haired woman could not believe her luck. On the balcony next to her own room, she found the brooding Isabella. Pernilla approached the young woman cautiously and leaned up against the wooden railing beside her. Isabella closed her hood – pulling it tighter – and tried to ignore the woman.

“I didn’t intend to frighten you away.” 

Isabella’s pulse raced when she felt the woman’s hand on her shoulder. Pernilla’s attentions were not _entirely_ unwelcome – and the distraught cleric did wish to talk to someone – but she felt that this _virago_ was the wrong person with whom to confide. Despite the fact that she also felt that Pernilla’s motivations were questionable and her intentions far from honorable, Isabella did not retreat from her touch. Pernilla also noticed the cleric’s lack of negative response.

Pernilla had been lightly caressing her shoulders while the young cleric struggled with her emotions. Drawing Isabella’s hood back, the Reaver once again saw the young woman’s distant look. For a moment Pernilla felt a twinge of sadness for the young woman, but it was her fondest hope to cheer her up this night, or at least make her forget her troubles for a while.

“Tell me what’s troubling you, little one,” Pernilla asked as she ran her fingers through Isabella’s hair and caressed her neck. Isabella could not bring herself to meet the woman’s gaze, preferring instead to stare out at the moonlit city.

“I lost my friends.” The young cleric’s eyes became wet.

“How so?” Pernilla’s concern was nearly genuine.

“In Legion’s lair,” Isabella replied. 

“Darkness Falls?” Pernilla was nearly breathless with surprise. “Your skills must be great indeed, young Isabella, to even hope of venturing into such a place, friends or not.” Pernilla turned the cleric around to face her. Tears had begun to stream down Isabella’s cheeks.

“I did the best I could, but…” Isabella’s words were caught in her throat.

“I’m sure they knew the risks, little one,” the Reaver comforted as she took Isabella’s chin and traced her fingers across the young cleric’s jaw line. Pernilla stared deeply in the young woman’s eyes and sensed there was more to the cleric’s despair. 

Isabella collected herself enough for a better look at the woman. Pernilla appeared older than Isabella, but not by much. As best she could tell beneath her tight leather garments, Pernilla’s tall frame was lean and possessed more than average strength for a woman. However, when Isabella tried to seek out the Reaver’s soul, it seemed as though a shroud had been pulled across the land; letting no one in, and no one out. If Isabella did not know better, she would swear the woman shielding herself from her unique ability. The young cleric blinked a few times when she realized that all she could see were the woman’s piercing brown eyes. 

Pernilla’s fingers continued their journey along Isabella’s cheek and to the back of her neck. Isabella felt herself being drawn up towards the Reaver and – before she could escape – Pernilla pressed her lips against Isabella’s. Isabella’s lips parted slightly and allowed Pernilla’s tongue to slip past and gently flick across the inside of the cleric’s mouth. Pernilla marveled at the sensations she received when she ran her tongue across Isabella’s perfect teeth.

All too quickly for Isabella, the kiss broke and the cleric was left looking up at the tall woman before her. Pernilla had a mischievous look in her eye, but beyond that her emotions remained a mystery to Isabella. Isabella’s senses were slowly coming back to her and she struggled with her teachings, her oath, and her emotions. Sensing the conflict, Pernilla leaned in for a second kiss and what remained of Isabella’s resolve was washed away in an instant. Before she knew it, she was being led into one of the nearby rooms.

**◄●►**

Inside the dimly-lit room, Pernilla gently pushed the panting cleric down onto the bed and crawled over her. Isabella could barely discern the outline of her partner in the darkness, and instead allowed her hands to guide her. Running her hands up Pernilla’s arms, she brushed her palms against her partner’s cheeks and tried to pull her down for another kiss.

Pernilla was elated by the cleric’s show of initiative but pushed the young woman’s hands away from her face. Resisting the urge to ravage her new lover with wild abandon, Pernilla sat up. Straddling the young cleric, Pernilla wrapped her thighs firmly around Isabella’s hips. Isabella’s hands were left empty as she grasped at the darkness for the older woman’s body. She did not have to search long. Against the silhouette, Pernilla’s fingers appeared and intertwined with those of Isabella’s. The Reaver’s touch was magical. Releasing the firm, but gentle grip, Pernilla traced her fingertips across Isabella’s palms.

Isabella gasped. Pernilla smiled in the darkness. With the lightest of touch, Pernilla continued to brush her fingertips over the sensitive skin of Isabella’s forearms. The experienced woman sitting atop her brought Isabella’s deepest desires to the surface. The sensations were almost unbearable, teetering on the ticklish when Pernilla suddenly gripped Isabella’s wrists.

With a tiny yelp, Isabella’s pulse raced. However, Pernilla relaxed her hold and placed Isabella’s hands on her still-clothed chest. The cleric held her breath.

This was a first for Isabella. Memories of her former lover’s firm, muscled chest came flooding back. However, the supple form of the woman above her also served as a reminder of the forbidden nature of their encounter. But Isabella’s vows of celibacy and the fact she was with a woman were no match for the ache deep in her heart.

Isabella’s fingers trembled as she tentatively explored the pliable orbs through the Reaver’s tunic. The swell of Pernilla’s breasts was entrancing. Unable to see what she was touching, there was nothing to distract Isabella from the tactile beauty of Pernilla’s bosom. Isabella never paid much mind her own, or any other woman’s, but Pernilla’s figure radiated sensuality. When she encountered a patch of bare skin, Isabella hesitated before slipping her fingers beneath Pernilla’s leather tunic. Underneath, Isabella found a completely new world. Pernilla’s skin was soft and warm and seemed to respond delightfully to the cleric’s touch. Isabella felt a shiver ripple across Pernilla’s chest

Assured that Isabella’s hands would be busy, Pernilla leaned over her prize and locked her lips onto Isabella’s as her own hands made short work of the laces holding Isabella’s clothes on. Isabella’s only indication of what was happening to her own body was the cool air on her skin as her shirt fell open. Her hands quickly returned to the object of her attention after Pernilla pushed them away temporarily to allow her to remove the top half of the cleric’s clothing. Pernilla leaned in once more to kiss the young woman in her bed.

Isabella could not see it, but she heard the laces on Pernilla’s tunic unraveling. With the piece of clothing open, Isabella was afforded better access to the Reaver’s body. Pernilla pushed the young woman’s hands down further until Isabella’s fingers lightly gripped her waist. The kiss broke once again and Isabella was left to marvel at the curves she had found. Running her hands from Pernilla’s waist to her hips, Isabella studied the curve. Although naked from the waist up, Pernilla retained her tight, leather leggings. Isabella found the feminine shaped exhilarating even through the clothing.

The young cleric continued to gently run her hands from Pernilla’s waist to her hips, mapping the curve. Pernilla maintained their kiss, nipping gently on Isabella’s lips when she climbed up on her knees, hovering over her lover. Isabella barely noticed. She remained focused on the woman’s hips – certain she had memorized the curve – until a new sensation elicited a gasp from her throat.

Her lips having distracted the young cleric with soft kisses to her neck and shoulders, Pernilla had slipped her fingers under the waistline of Isabella’s leggings and gently gripped her mound of course curls. Isabella whimpered. 

Once sure that the sensitive cleric would not explode from the sensations, Pernilla cautiously ran her fingers over Isabella’s vulva before parting the lips of her sex. 

Slipping an exploratory finger between the hot folds, Pernilla was delighted to find the cleric dripping wet. Isabella remained on her back and gripped the sheets in her fists as she felt the Reaver’s fingers expertly manipulate her most intimate parts. Pernilla smiled wickedly in the dark and stretched out alongside her lover as her fingers sought out the sensitive bud of Isabella’s sex. 

With practiced care, Pernilla stroked the writhing young woman’s moist sex. Isabella gave herself over entirely to the desires that she had for so long denied herself. Pernilla cradled the cleric’s head in her free arm and planted minute kisses back and forth over Isabella’s forehead, tasting the young woman’s sweat. Isabella hardly noticed; the tempo of the Reaver’s fingers had quickened and she was lost in her drive for release. 

Not a word had been spoken since their kiss on the balcony, and now the only sounds in the room was that of Pernilla’s fingers feverishly working Isabella’s dripping quim, coupled with Isabella’s desperate gasps.

After several minutes, Pernilla decided that her young lover had waited long enough. Slowly slipping two fingers deep into the sopping-wet tunnel below, Pernilla pressed firmly upwards against the soft, spongy tissue. The sensation of the invading digits, coupled with the vigorous stimulation of Pernilla’s thumb on the cleric’s sensitive bud, caused Isabella’s body to go rigid in the final throes leading to her climax. When her release finally arrived, Isabella shrieked. 

The sounds were music on Pernilla’s ears and she made no attempt to stifle her lover’s cries. Isabella clutched Pernilla tightly, her mind swirling with sated lust and no small measure of confusion. Her thoughts fluttered between her past and her present: Eirik, her broken heart, her broken vows, and the experienced hand between her legs.

Pernilla slowed her ministrations and cupped the cleric’s sex firmly, allowing her to come down gently from her climax. After many hearbeats, Isabella’s eyes began to flutter open but – before she reached conscious thought again – the Reaver released a spell.

With a hushed chant and a wave, violet smoke poured from Pernila’s fingers and wafted over the young cleric’s face. Isabella gasped when she smelled the acrid mist, which in turn expedited its journey deep into her lungs. She tried to scream, but the spell’s effects had already seized the breath from her lungs. Isabella heard the Reaver cooing gently before falling unconscious.

“Sleep, little one.” Pernilla smiled at her prize. Placing a gentle kiss, Pernilla disentangled herself from Isabella and went to work.


	8. Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 1st, 2020

Isabella remembered nothing of her time asleep. No dreams came to her while under the Reaver’s deep sedation spell. When she began to shake off the effects of the magical mist, her mind was still heavy with a drowsy fog. Isabella had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but something told her that it was still night. 

_ Where am I? What is happening? _

Isabella’s eyes burned when she tried to open them; a bright glow filled the room. When her eyes finally grew accustomed to the light, Isabella discovered that she was surrounded by dozens of candles. The flames bathed the room with a beautiful orange glow. Isabella, still tired, marveled at how the candles had been placed upon every available surface in a seemingly random fashion. In her addled state, Isabella thought the room looked beautiful but could not fathom why it had been so decorated. Isabella’s curiosity drew her to the light but when she tried to move, she found herself rooted to the spot.

When the effects of the spell wore off fully, Isabella saw her predicament. She was still in Pernilla’s room but she could not move. Isabella found herself bound, gagged and kneeling on the bed. Her arms were stretched out straight to each side and bound by two ropes fastened to the walls on either side of the room. 

Isabella gave an experimental tug on the ropes but it was no use. The loops around her wrists were simple but held firm. The short ropes afforded no slack, making it impossible for Isabella to slip her wrists free without help.

The gag over her mouth was the most peculiar part of the ensemble. Isabella sniffed and inhaled the clean smell of freshly cured leather. She could not see exactly what it was, but a strap held what tasted like a leather-wrapped ball in her mouth. The ball propped her jaw open, but was not so large as to be uncomfortable.

Isabella tried to stand up but she discovered a metal bar fastened securely to her knees, forcing her legs apart. She was a vulgar caricature of the crucifix. Worst of all, she was as naked as the day the Lord first breathed life into her lungs. The only article she wore was the small wooden cross still hanging around her neck.

Isabella pulled frantically, searching for a weakness in her bonds. However, her struggles ceased when her eyes fell upon a harrowing sight. On the table beside the bed – among several candles – lay a Reaver’s whip and an ornate Hibernian dagger. Panic set in as Isabella studied the blade. Her mind eased little even when she realized the crescent sword was most likely a battlefield souvenir and not the traditional ceremonial implement used by the disciples of Arawn. 

Suddenly the bed shifted under someone’s weight and Isabella’s heart raced. The young woman tried to turn around to see her captor when she felt a sharp sting on her rear. Isabella yelped through the gag when Pernilla gave her a sound swat with the palm of her hand. Isabella was more surprised than in pain even though Pernilla left a brilliant crimson handprint on the cleric’s left buttock. 

Pernilla kneeled behind the cleric and enveloped her in her arms. Isabella could tell Pernilla was also completely naked. The older woman pressed herself up against the cleric’s back, curving her body to conform to Isabella’s shape. Pernilla planted her face in the crook of the distraught cleric’s shoulder and nuzzled her neck.

“Time to wake up, _mon chou!"_ Pernilla wrapped her arms around Isabella and gave her a tight squeeze while grazing her teeth along the young woman’s collarbone. Isabella felt the woman’s hands slide down her stomach. Pernilla lightly scraped her nails over Isabella’s pubis and down across her inner thighs. Isabella wanted desperately to escape, but her bonds held her firmly upon the bed. Tears streamed down the cleric’s cheeks when Pernilla’s fingers invaded her sex. The shock and humiliation of what was being done to her against her will made Isabella wail through the gag.

“Hush, little one,” Pernilla cooed softly. The woman’s tone was gentle and soothing in contrast to her actions. “Do not tell me you don’t enjoy this.” Pernilla’s fingers probed deeply into the cleric’s sex. “After all, I can feel you’re no virgin,” the Reaver chuckled.

Pernilla punctuated her observation with a thrust of her fingers drawing forth a muffled grunt from Isabella. Pernilla grinned and gently manipulated the lips of Isabella’s sex, coating her fingers in the copious moisture. Isabella whimpered defiantly, trying to squirm free of her captor’s embrace. Pernilla abated her manipulations of the young woman’s vulva and leaned back, gently tracing her fingertips over Isabella’s back. 

Pernilla’s delicate touch would have been sensual under any other circumstances. Now it served merely to ease Isabella down slightly from her panic. Breathing became difficult for Isabella, the leather ball-gag forcing her breath through her nose. Eventually Isabella’s breathing reached an easy, shallow tempo despite her fear. However, any thoughts Isabella had that her situation had improved were quickly quelled.

Seeing her companion relax, Pernilla sucked in a deep breath, smiled and raked her fingernails down Isabella’s back. Isabella screamed and struggled against her bonds. Pernilla blew the hot breath she had been holding across the cleric’s skin and shuddered with delight. She inspected the marks she had left. No blood had been drawn by the attack, but the eight, long red streaks down Isabella’s back were fraught with patches of broken skin. Pernilla was experienced; she knew just how to skirt the threshold of pain and injury. 

But Isabella did not know this. The cleric was convinced her life would soon be over. When it became clear that escape was impossible, Isabella tried to close her legs but the bar holding her knees apart left the lips of her sex splayed open for Pernilla to enjoy. 

Pernilla sighed and nuzzled Isabella’s neck while her nimble fingers returned the young cleric’s quim. Peering over her shoulder, Pernilla saw the small wooden crucifix hanging between Isabella’s delightful bosom. With her free hand, Pernilla traced a finger over the icon and grinned. 

_Clerics and their trinkets_, Pernilla thought. Isabella stiffened and protested through her gag. Pernilla shushed her gently. The older woman held the crucifix delicately between two fingers – inspecting it closely – before returning it to its proper place between Isabella’s breasts.

“I know how important this is to you, little one,” Pernilla whispered. “I’m much more interested in _you_.” Pernilla kissed her pet lightly on the ear and reached up with her free hand to cup Isabella’s right breast.

Although much smaller than Pernilla’s, Isabella’s breasts were perfectly capped with large, pink nipples. Pernilla handled one, then the other gently, letting them bounce slightly. She found the jiggle adorable. Licking two fingers, Pernilla painted both of Isabella’s nipples with a coating of saliva then blew gently across them. Isabella’s nipples hardened despite herself but neither the cleric’s mind nor body were receptive. Isabella cried and prayed for any release. Pernilla felt the mild spasms of weeping in her captive and hushed her softly.

“There there, my pet. No need to cry.” Pernilla kissed Isabella’s shoulder and watched as her fingers moved lightly over the younger woman’s sex. With a light flick of the cleric’s sensitive button, Pernilla drew her fingers from the moist folds. She then brushed the glistening digits across Isabella’s cheek, allowing her juices to mingle with the tears. Isabella flinched and squeezed her eyes shut. Pernilla grinned wickedly and sucked on her fingers, tasting the mixture of the young woman’s juices and tears. Isabella heard Pernilla sigh heavily and craned her neck around to get a better look at the older woman.

The cleric saw only a glimpse of Pernilla’s soul but its passion was burning through the shroud like a flaming red beacon attempting to pierce a stormy grey fog. Isabella still feared for her life, for the vision did not reveal Pernilla’s intentions. Pernilla’s emotions were wild but showed a measure of restraint. However, it was almost as if she fought against it like a domesticated animal threatening to go feral.

The older woman continued to lick her fingers when she saw the cleric staring at her. Not wanting her pet to be too uncomfortable, Pernilla tilted Isabella’s head back facing forward.

“You’re doing so well, little one,” Pernilla whispered in Isabella’s ear. Pernilla’s breathing became ragged as she pawed at her new pet, rubbing her body against the hapless cleric. As her passion grew, Pernilla leaned past the bound Isabella to retrieve something from the bedside table. Isabella looked down to see only the blade remaining and sighed with relief. Pernilla noticed the cleric’s reaction and smiled. Setting the whip down on the bed, the woman leaned forward again and hid the crescent sword in the drawer.

“Naughty girl. I would never use that on you. How dare you think me capable of such acts.” The confused Isabella moaned quizzically through her gag and Pernilla just smiled and kissed her on the cheek. Isabella could smell her own juices on the woman’s lips.

Pernilla grabbed the whip and kneeled behind her captive cleric. While planting gentle kisses across the back of Isabella’s neck, Pernilla began tracing the handle of the whip across Isabella’s skin. Across her collarbone, between her breasts, and down across her flat tummy, Isabella felt the soft leather wrap of the whip brush over her mound and over the coarse brown bristles between her thighs.

A few more tears rolled over her cheeks as Isabella moaned in protest. When she felt the whip handle slide firmly across the lips of her sex, Isabella growled and shook her head. Pernilla ignored the protests and continued to guide the shaft between Isabella’s thighs, stopping short of penetration. Instead, the whip handle slid slowly back and forth between the two women, alternately rubbing gently across Isabella’s sex then Pernilla’s.

Pernilla sighed and inhaled Isabella’s scent, burying her face in the young woman’s hair. Bedding a young cleric was exhilarating but seducing one with such youthful beauty and _purported_ innocence was intoxicating. Upon discovering a poor, forlorn girl in need of “rescue,” Pernilla felt a rush. However, when Pernilla discovered Isabella’s secret of youthful indiscretion, she was utterly elated. Nothing aroused Pernilla more than introducing a girl to her world. Pernilla could feel her quim dripping and coating the whip handle, which glided easily back between Isabella’s thighs.

After almost reaching the peak of pleasure, Pernilla let the whip handle fall from her grasp. She was almost ready. Wrapping her arms around Isabella, Pernilla ran her hands over every inch of the young woman’s body. Upon reaching Isabella’s bindings, Pernilla gave each one a tug. Isabella raised her head. Perhaps she was being set free. Perhaps Pernilla had grown weary of her disengagement. But no such luck.

Satisfied that Isabella’s bonds were secure, Pernilla patted the young woman’s side and picked up the whip again. Pernilla uncoiled the leather weapon and passed one end between both their legs. Holding both ends of the whip in one hand, Pernilla gave it a firm tug. Isabella flinched when she felt the whip pull tightly against the tender folds of her sex.

Pernilla arched her back in a way that afforded the most contact and felt the same bite as she pulled the weapon tightly against her own sex. Grabbing onto her companion, Pernilla began thrusting her hips and rubbing herself against the weapon’s braided cord. Isabella squealed. 

The movement of the woman behind her made it difficult for Isabella to remain still and the whip rubbed her open sex. The sensations were painful, but no permanent damage was being inflicted. Isabella knew that if she survived, a quick spell would heal anything _physical_ that happened to her. It was the humiliation and uncertainty that still terrified her.

Soon Pernilla’s undulations increased their tempo. She began panting and her movements made it more and more difficult for Isabella to avoid the sting of the whip between her legs. Pernilla locked her free arm around the cleric and moaned in her ear. Isabella found herself praying for the _Reaver’s_ death as the whip bit sharply into her tender folds. 

Pernilla was unaware of the cleric’s feelings; her thoughts were focused squarely on her own pleasure. Bucking hard against the bound cleric, Pernilla’s pleasure finally peaked. At that moment Pernilla pulled hard on the whip and Isabella cried out through her gag. Both women trembled as Pernilla’s climax crashed over her in wave after wave for many heartbeats. 

Still clinging to her young captive, Pernilla dropped the whip on the bed and heaved a tremendous sigh. Her legs were weak and her vision began to fade. Pernilla could barely remain kneeling on the bed and held onto the bound Isabella for support for several moments. When enough blood had returned to her head, Pernilla started to free Isabella from her bonds.

Isabella wept as her captor pulled her hands free of the loops in her bindings. The young cleric collapsed onto the bed and stroked her raw wrists. Behind her, Pernilla removed the bar from Isabella’s knees and curled up beside her to undo her gag. With the obstruction gone, Isabella gasped and sucked in a deep breath but the air in the small room was thick and stifling from the burning candles. Isabella sputtered and coughed for a few moments before her lungs cleared. Finally, her tears began to subside and Isabella took note of her situation. 

Rolling off the bed, the young woman tried to stand on wobbly legs but the lingering effect of the Reaver’s spell had left her weak. Isabella yelped and flopped back onto the bed. However, she was no longer as desperate as before; if Pernilla had planned to take her life, she would have done so already. 

With a quick chant and a flourish of her hands, Isabella cast a simple spell that expelled the remaining poisons from her body. A deep breath later and she could finally stand. Searching the room, she found her clothes in a pile in the corner and quickly gathered them up in her arms. She would have to get dressed first; a naked woman – a cleric no less – fleeing the room would raise too many questions. Isabella turned around to check on Pernilla only to find her still on the bed – unmoving. 

Disregarding her own instinct, Isabella cautiously inspected the woman splayed out across the bed and staring up at the ceiling. She looked exhausted, almost dead to the world. Pernilla’s brown eyes stared back at the cleric, but they lacked focus. Isabella furrowed her brow in befuddlement. It was as if Pernilla was looking right through her. 

Looking deep into Pernilla’s eyes, Isabella saw the flames of the woman’s passion ebb, replaced by a soft blue halo safely tucked behind the grey fog. The young cleric brought her hand up to touch the woman’s face, but Pernilla snatched Isabella’s wrist – her eyes never shifting focus.

Isabella gasped but Pernilla made no move to strike her. Again, Isabella sought the image of the woman’s soul only to find the grey shroud once again obscuring all intrusion. Isabella felt a pang of sadness. Pernilla was hiding something, of that Isabella was sure. A secret born of immense pain. A secret Pernilla had learned to hide. A secret she was not about to give up. 

Finally, Pernilla blinked and focused her gaze on the cleric. Isabella recoiled, fearing resumption of the violence. However, Pernilla simply rolled Isabella onto her side and gently wrapped her arms around her. With a high-pitched sigh, she caressed Isabella’s cheek. Pernilla cooed softly and her fingers danced lightly across Isabella’s skin. After a few tense heartbeats, Isabella allowed herself to relax. 

Curling up in a ball, Isabella felt the fatigue of the night’s activities take their toll. Her muscles ached, as did her heart. Isabella’s thoughts were a swirl of confusion. The night had begun to feel surreal. Were it not for the strong arms around her, Isabella would have been convinced she was dreaming. Isabella’s last thoughts – before falling asleep – were how her life had seemingly changed forever with a single kiss.

The room had grown stiflingly hot from the multitude of candles. Pernilla reached up to open the shutters above their bed, permitting a breeze and extinguishing many of the candles. The cool night air caressed the women’s skin causing Isabella to shiver. Pernilla wrapped the two of them in a light blanked and watched Isabella fall asleep in the darkening room before curling up herself.

“Sleep, little one,” the Reaver whispered into Isabella’s ear causing her to stir in her sleep just a little.


	9. Loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 8th, 2020

As the morning sun traversed the sky, its rays cast a brilliant beam through the window of the inn’s small room. In her dreaming state, the sleeper pushed away the blanket she had pulled over herself to stave off the chilly night. Now the sun’s rays peeked through the window and traveled slowly up the bed, warming its single occupant until it illuminated her beautiful face.

When the sun’s nagging rays finally woke the sleeper, she squinted and tried to remember where she was. It was warm. The bed was comfortable and the soft sheets felt wonderful on her bare skin. However, a nagging thought interrupted her bliss. Something was amiss; there was something important she had forgotten. The sound of shuffling feet fell on her ears and Isabella’s eyes flew open.

_ Oh, bugger._ Turning over, Isabella saw her bedmate from the previous night already up and dressed. 

_ Oh, bugger!_

Isabella’s heart raced and she tried to hide back under the covers. However, upon seeing her young friend awake, Pernilla’s eyes lit up with pure joy.

“You’re up! Wonderful!” 

The Reaver seemed elated. Isabella could not fathom why. Simply because Isabella had awoken? Pernilla skipped over to the bed and planted a wet kiss on the young cleric’s lips. Isabella stiffened, expecting something much rougher. Upon releasing the kiss, Pernilla returned to her equipment and began donning her armor. Pernilla’s behavior had gone from night to day, a fact that only served to increase Isabella’s trepidation.

“Quickly! You must get ready,” Pernilla said as she finished tying her hair back into a tight ponytail. It was then that Isabella noticed the noise outside their room.

“Wh-what’s going on?” Isabella’s voice cracked.

“It’s a raid! The forces of Midgard are attacking Caer Excalibur!” Pernilla yanked on the bedsheet and Isabella yelped as her only protection slipped from her grasp leaving her naked before the Reaver.

“Hey!” Isabella turned a deep crimson and eyed Pernilla incredulously. A Reaver’s enthusiasm for what proved to be some of the bloodiest conflict in the realm should not have come as a surprise to Isabella, but Pernilla’s obvious desire to drag an inexperienced cleric into it _did_.

“I don’t think…” Isabella stammered.

“Oh come now. You’ll be fine,” Pernilla said with an unusually warm smile. 

“But…” Isabella was not sure how to explain. “I’m not really _that_ kind of cleric. I…I’m not strong enough for defense of the frontier."

“Don’t be silly!” Pernilla scoffed. “Any cleric who braves some of Albion’s deepest dungeons can brave a few sodden dwarves with sticks. Come, I’ll protect you!” The young cleric scooted back towards the head of the bed and clutched the bedsheet as meager protection. Pernilla rolled her eyes, smiled, and grabbed the cleric by the wrist, dragging her from the bed. “Here, I got your things.” Pernilla reached down and hefted a substantial pile of equipment, proudly showing it off to Isabella before dropping it unceremoniously onto the bed.

Isabella inspected the pile. It _was_ hers. 

“Where did you…? Who let you…? How did you get my things!?” Isabella’s voice squeaked with exasperation. It was all there: her armor, her shield, and…her hammer. Eirik’s gift. The cleric looked up at her companion who was sorting through her own belongings and ignoring her complaints.

“How did you convince Lord Urqhart to hand over _my_ belongings?”

“The Vault Keeper?” Pernilla shrugged; her back still to Isabella. “I don’t know his name.” Pernilla turned and winked at Isabella. “But I know what he likes.” Pernilla wriggled her hips, leaving the rest to Isabella’s imagination.

Isabella ran her hand over the hammer. She had not touched her battle equipment in over a month. Sighing, Isabella decided to humor the woman until she could find an opportunity to escape.

**◄●►**

Outside, the fully armored women found the streets of Camelot in chaos. Men and women from the city were streaming through the gates and making their way to Albion’s western frontier gateway: Savauge Keep. Swept up in the torrent of Camelot’s defenders, Isabella and Pernilla were soon running up the trail towards the castle that housed one of their realm’s most prized possessions: the Scabbard of Arthur’s legendary sword, Excalibur.

Theirs was the first wave of warriors to leave for the relic keep and soon their party had Castle Excalibur in their sights. They did not like what they saw.

The towers of the castle were smoking. Below the disintegrating east castle wall stood dozens of norse, dwarves and trolls waiting to cut through the defenerds. Isabella barely had time to cast her protective spells over herself and her companion before the first barrage of arrows darkened the sky. 

Isabella quickly ducked behind Pernilla and braced herself. Pernilla held her tower shield above her head as the deadly missiles cut through the Albion lines. The din of battle was almost more than Isabella could bear. The cries of the men and women around her – some of them in death – on top of the percussive _whacks_ of arrows on Pernilla’s shield caused Isabella to curl up even tighter. Isabella realized that her adventures in the safety of her homeland’s tame regions never prepared her for this.

When the rain of arrows ceased, Isabella used the respite as an opportunity to look for survivors. The young cleric took a risk and cast a healing spell on a few nearby comrades in hopes of buying them enough time to regroup or escape. Pernilla reached behind to make sure Isabella was safe. The Reaver’s shield looked like a pincushion but none of the arrows had made it past her defenses. Standing back up, Pernilla continued her steady advance towards the relic keep.

Isabella poked her head out from behind the shield to survey the enemy’s rank when a stray arrow grazed her cheek. The cleric yelped, but it was only a flesh wound. Isabella wondered just how long she could maintain such luck. Looking behind her she saw the second wave of Albion defenders still far from their position. Shivering, Isabella held onto Pernilla’s hips and followed her closely.

Pernilla turned and flashed a wink at her cleric until her eye caught something behind them. Isabella recognized the danger immediately and spun around in time to see two axe blades flying towards her head. Isabella screamed and the Kobold froze in his tracks.

The rudimentary stunning flash was a weak spell but it gave Pernilla more than enough time to swing her weapon. The spiked ball of her flail came crashing down on the little blue man’s head, killing him instantly. Isabella’s heart raced. She barely meant to cast the spell that saved their lives; she was running purely on instinct. Pernilla could not be happier.

“Good timing, pet!” said Pernilla. Isabella was still hyperventilating.

“Th-thank-ayeee-look out!”

Pernilla spun around in time to block more arrows with her shield, but the two women were in more danger than they realized. Much of the first wave had been cut down, and the rest of the defenders were scattered. Isabella and Pernilla were isolated from the rest of their group, and Midgard’s warriors were bearing down on them.

Isabella cast another protective ward and equipped her own shield and hammer just as a troll locked onto the pair and dived on top of them, its twin axes swinging. Both women ducked and rolled to the side, but the giant troll did not lose a beat as it pivoted to one side, slamming its left axe in front of Isabella. 

The giant axe blocked her path but – using the axe as a ramp – Isabella’s momentum launched her into the air and out of harm's way. Meanwhile, Pernilla pulled out long, barbed whip and took the troll head on. 

“Over here, you foul, loathsome, beast!” The grey, scaly fighter forgot the cleric and turned towards the Reaver, its nostrils flaring angrily. Pernilla backed up and readied her shield. The troll trembled and flung both its weapons high in the air. Pernilla knew what was coming and grinned, seeing the troll’s allies approach. Roaring, the troll’s eye’s turned white and a red mist seemed to emanate from every pore and surround its body.

In its rage, the troll Berserker swung its axes wildly, inadvertently striking two of its companions and decapitating them. Pernilla managed to evade the Berserker’s next few swings, but the last one finally caught her shield, nearly knocking it from Pernilla’s grasp. 

“No!” Isabella shrieked in terror and again cast a stunning flash, this time aimed at the troll. Unfortunately, trolls prove much more resilient than their diminutive, Kobold cousins. The giant beast squinted for a moment and sniffed the air but the pause gave Pernilla enough time to lash her whip around its neck.

The troll grunted stupidly and Pernilla swung herself around by the beast’s neck, landing on its back. Assured of her footing, Pernilla began pounding her shield on the troll’s head. The troll began swinging blindly with rage. The troll’s comrades were too close and three more of them were cut to pieces before they could pull the Reaver down from the troll’s back.

Isabella watched the scene, amazed at Pernilla’s recklessness. Another Midgard warrior was knocked aside as the troll turned around suddenly. Finally coming to its senses, the Berserker decided it was through playing games with the puny human. Dropping one axe, the troll grabbed the Reaver by her cloak and flung her across the forest floor. Pernilla grunted when she hit the ground. 

“Pernilla! Look out!” 

Knowing that Pernilla would not recover in time, Isabella began chanting. More a prayer than a spell, Isabella remained rooted to the spot so as not to disrupt her concentration. When the invocation was complete, Isabella prayed silently that God would see fit to protect even one such as Pernilla. Isabella continued chanting and the troll raised its left axe to strike. Pernilla looked up just in time to see the weapon bearing down on her. The woman cried out in fear as the axe struck, knocking her to the ground.

However, Pernilla was unharmed. With a ringing in her ears, Pernilla looked up to find herself surrounded by a golden sphere. The troll furrowed it’s brow in a vain attempt to understand the situation but Pernilla turned around and beamed with joy at her companion. Isabella blanched.

“Do something!” she screamed in between chanting. “I can’t hold this for long!”

Pernilla’s smile evaporated and she turned around to see the troll raise its axe again to strike. This time the sphere shimmered and cracked. Pernilla cursed and brought her shield to the ready when the next strike shattered the magical sphere.

The force of the attack knocked the breath from Pernilla’s lungs. Opening her eyes, Pernilla saw the blade of the axe poking through what was left of her wooden tower shield. Before she could consider her luck, the troll drew back its axe – pulling the shield with it. The troll flung the wooden shield from its axe sending it flying through the air and scattering into hundreds of splinters. Upon seeing Pernilla in grave danger Isabella panicked. Out of power for her spells, the young cleric did the first thing she could think of to save her companion.

“Hey!” Isabella called. “Over here!” The young cleric waved and pounded on her shield.

The stupefied troll looked up to find the source of the noise. When it turned towards Isabella, all it saw was a golden hammer heading end-over-end towards its head. The arcanium weapon landed with a solid _thunk_ and the troll went cross-eyed for a moment before shaking its head. Then it charged on its attacker. 

“Bugger!” Isabella cursed as she turned to run. The young cleric nearly went crashing down the hill as she tried to evade the beast. Dodging through some trees, Isabella soon found the troll on her heals and swinging for her. The cleric ducked, narrowly avoiding losing her head but tripped in the process. Isabella tumbled a several yards down the hill and landed with her back against a tree. Opening her eyes with a groan she saw the troll’s axe bearing down on her from on high. The cleric screamed and closed her eyes. A second later, the tree shook violently. But Isabella felt nothing apart from her scrapes and bruises from the fall.

Slowly opening her eyes, the cleric saw the axe lodged firmly in the trunk of the tree. The troll was equally confused as it grunted stupidly at its weapon. Batting at the handle for a second, the troll roared at the cleric and raised its second axe. Isabella yelped and got up to run to the side only to be blocked by the axe as it swiped in front of her.

Turning around in a panic, Isabella ran the opposite direction and smacked head first into the flat edge of the first giant axe stuck in the tree. The young cleric grunted and fell to the ground. Before she lost consciousness, Isabella heard the sound of rapid footsteps through the leaves and the whistle of Pernilla’s spiked flail.

**◄●►**

“Eirik!” Isabella staggered through a dark fog whilst calling out her former friend’s named. A cold stillness was her only answer. The fog cleared slightly and the cleric stepped into the giant hallway flanked by ebony pillars. An orange glow partially illuminated the hall from above. A woman’s sobs were emanating from somewhere unseen.

Isabella’s desperation evaporated and she stood up confidently. Knowing how the dream should proceed, the young cleric walked down the hallway towards the sounds of deep, emotional anguish. Soon, Isabella saw the young woman cradling the dying warrior on the black marble floor. A crimson pool of blood surrounded the pair.

Hearing the cleric’s footsteps, the young woman turned around. But Isabella did not see her face this time. This time the dream was different. A hand touched Isabella’s shoulder and she turned around with a start. Pernilla stood before Isabella and grabbed her firmly by the waist. The Reaver pressed her lips against Isabella’s stealing the cleric’s breath.

Isabella’s vision began to fade as it did every time, only this time in Pernilla’s firm embrace.

_Eirik, I’m sorry_.

**◄●►**

“God be praised, she lives!” A woman’s voice greeted Isabella when her ears once again gathered the sounds of the world of the living. The young cleric tried to open her eyes, but even the dim light of the room stung. “Relax, dearie. Rest,” the gentle voice told her. Soon Isabella was able to open her eyes and see her guardian.

A portly nun stood smiling over her. Isabella estimated her at over fifty years of age. She was indeed a seasoned woman, but dressed from head to toe in the traditional habit, no one would have guessed she was had seen nearly seventy summers. The nun bent down and placed a cool, wet cloth on her patient’s forehead. Isabella sighed deeply at the touch and swallowed.

“Where am I?” she asked, he voice cracking slightly from her dry throat. Isabella was exhausted, but could sense no injuries other than a splitting headache.

“Caer Renaris, dear,” the nun replied in her thick, highland accent. 

Isabella was finally able to make out her surroundings. The castle’s _infirmaria_ housed over two dozen beds, all of which were empty save for Isabella’s. She was in the middle of two rows of beds that lined the walls of the room. Sunlight poured in through one row of high windows that flanked each wall. The brown stone walls surrounding Isabella were a welcome sight. 

“You’re quite lucky, dear. The battle for Arthur’s relic was a success but at no small cost.” With the old woman’s help, Isabella sat up slightly and took a drink of fresh water from the cup offered to her.

“H-how did I get here?” the young woman asked after a few gulps. The nun took the cup away from Isabella’s lip sand placed it in her hands. Looking beside Isabella, the old woman’s lips curled into a scowl.

“_She_ brought you here.” Isabella looked to the bed beside her and saw nothing. Confused she looked around until a rustle from the floor caught her attention. Curled up on the hard stone floor, still in her armor, lay Pernilla. The Reaver looked as peaceful as a young child sleeping between the beds. Isabella was stunned.

“Aye,” the nun continued, a hint of contempt in her voice. “She insisted on remaining with you; even refused to let us look at her wound. Not that we…” The nun trailed off, remembering her oath. The voices began to rouse the sleeping Pernilla. Opening her eyes, Pernilla smiled and pulled herself off the floor groggily.

“You’re awake,” she said, closing her eyes and sighing heavily. Still sitting on the floor, Pernilla wrapped her arms around the cleric and rested her head in her lap. Isabella still could not read the woman’s emotions. Although perhaps she could, and simply could not understand them in the context of Pernilla’s actions. Isabella placed a hand on the Reaver’s head and considered her situation. It was as that moment the pungent odor assaulted her nose.

“Gah! How long have we been here?” Isabella held her nose. The two of them were in desperate need of a bath. Isabella was almost sure that Pernilla had dragged her through troll dung on the way to Renaris.

“Six days, dear,” the nun answered. “You had a rather nasty bump on your head. We were beginning to wonder if you would ever come back to us.” 

Pernilla clutched her companion tighter and looked up, her beaming face greeting the cleric. Isabella felt her stomach growl and Pernilla laughed upon hearing the cleric’s tummy rumble. Isabella blushed.

“Perhaps a little food, and then we should leave the frontier,” the young cleric suggested, her eyes cast down in embarrassment. The nun shrugged.

“If you are feeling up to it, lass.” The nun frowned at the Reaver once more and went off to get her patient something to eat. Isabella was grateful for the privacy. She did not want the nun to dwell on the heretic in her midst, let alone one that was so extremely cozy with a young member of her own order. Pernilla took the opportunity to give her companion a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Stop that!” Isabella hissed. “You’re going to get me in a lot of trouble!” Pernilla simply laughed playfully at the cleric’s embarrassment, but then her eyes lit up as she remembered something.

“Oh,” she said, “I saved this for you.” Pernilla reached down to the pile of belongings that she had used for a bed for the last several nights and pulled up something wrapped in black cloth. Isabella accepted it cautiously. When she unwrapped the black cloth, she found the hammer that she had hurled at the troll – the very same one Eirik had given her five summers ago – Isabella’s heart cried.

“It seemed…special,” Pernilla added.

**◄●►**

A few hours and a modest meal later, the two women stood outside Castle Renaris as the gates closed firmly behind them. Pernilla had purchased a healing potion against the nun’s wishes and a small sip had given Isabella the energy she needed for the journey back to Camelot. Isabella knew of the Church’s stance against alchemy, but as a healer she accepted it as a necessity of war.

Pernilla drew a deep, relaxing breath and looked out upon the forest path. Despite her profession’s alleged propensity for dark, morbid places, Pernilla rather enjoyed the serene, arboreal lands of Forest Sauvage. Taking Isabella’s hand in her own, Pernilla meant to lead her companion down the path. But Isabella stopped immediately and disengaged from the Reaver. Pernilla looked at Isabella quizzically, her face retaining a slight smile. Isabella was at a loss for words for a few heartbeats, but she soon gathered her thoughts.

“Pernilla?”

“Aye?” the Reaver replied. After another stretch of silence, Isabella gave up her attempts at a tactful resolution.

“We must talk.” Isabella paused, fearful of how the Reaver might react. “About…this.” Pernilla smiled gently and closed the gap between them. Cradling the shorter woman’s face in her hands, Pernilla kissed Isabella on the forehead.

“I know,” she said as she released the cleric’s cheeks. “But not here.” 

Isabella agreed. Forest Sauvage was not safe. Again Pernilla clasped Isabella’s palm – this time refusing to relinquish it – as the two women walked off the path into the forest and made their way to their homeland’s frontier keep.


	10. Reluctance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 15th, 2020  
Some of the foreign text has embedded html. Just hover your mouse over the text for translation in desktop mode (sorry mobile users).

The village of Cotswold lacked the shear breadth of services offered by the city of Camelot but Isabella found the town’s environment much more peaceful. Even though nestled close to the Albion capitol, it was easy to forget the troubles of the more congested city. Having convinced Pernilla of the advantages of small-town lodging, Isabella led her to _McDougal’s Public House_ as the sun started settling behind the trees.

Pernilla knew the small-town folk who operated and frequented such establishments would never take kindly to a servant of Arawn in their midst but she still made little effort to hide her profession.

“Room please, sir,” Isabella said to the tall, middle-aged Highlander behind the counter. The young cleric pushed two silver pieces across the bar. Jonathan Lee, the inn-keeper, leveled his gaze just above Isabella’s head and eyed the tall, cloaked figure behind her for a few moments. Pernilla returned the man’s gaze with her own steel eyes and a wry grin before leaning down to whisper something in her friend’s ear. Isabella blushed and retrieved the two silver coins, returning them to her purse.

“And a hot bath.” Again the cleric pushed two coins forward only this time gold instead of silver – much more than the price of the services requested. Isabella hoped that it would encourage discretion. Jonathan took the money and handed her a key.

“Number five,” he said in a low voice that betrayed his displeasure. Pernilla paused at the door after Isabella had gone through. Pulling her hood back she turned to the innkeeper and winked. If Jonathan was confused before, he was now completely befuddled.

Upstairs and at the end of the corridor, the pair found their lodgings in the form of a small corner room with a small bed and table. Isabella faced the room’s window with her back to the entrance as she heard the door close. Drawing the curtains, Isabella pulled off her cloak and began undoing the clasps on her tunic. When she got to the third clasp, however, she found it bent and began struggling with it. After shaking the garment vigorously in frustration, she heard a chuckle from the other side of the room.

“Problem, dear?”

Isabella looked up to see Pernilla leaning up against the door, watching her – a bemused grin plastered across the woman’s face. The cleric’s ire rose at the woman’s tone. She did not appreciate Pernilla’s patronizing attitude. Ignoring her, Isabella went back to work on removing her armor. Pernilla watched her companion struggle a few moments longer before walking over to help. Isabella flinched slightly when she felt Pernilla’s touch but allowed the woman to manipulate the stubborn clasp. Pernilla’s nimble fingers quickly fixed the problem and she gently pushed the cleric’s chain tunic over her shoulders and onto the floor.

Pernilla grinned and moved in closer to her friend. Isabella became increasingly uncomfortable and cast her eyes to the floor. Not to be ignored, Pernilla traced a finger down the young woman’s cheek and used it to tilt her head up by the chin. Isabella hesitantly met her companion’s brown eyes. Pernilla just watched her new friend with her usual devious grin but a knock at the door interrupted her delight.

“Enter.” 

Upon Pernilla’s invitation, the door opened and two young men stood at the threshold with a partially-filled tub. Behind them, a young maiden carried two large buckets of steaming water. The trio was somewhat shocked by what they encountered but were given little time to understand the situation. Isabella quickly disengaged herself from Pernilla’s grasp and made room for the bath’s placement. The younger of the two men stayed behind as the girl added the hot water. Before she was even finished, Pernilla was already beginning to disrobe.

As she poured the water from the second bucket, the young blonde-haired girl looked up. Pernilla had removed her armor and now her cloth tunic had fallen open giving the entire room a peek at her bosom. The child blushed and quickly fixed her wide eyes back on the tub. However, the young man – who could not have been more than seventeen summers – had no reservations about staring at the partially naked woman. Pernilla turned to see him looking at her and shot him an angry glare. 

Rubbing her temples and muttering to herself, Isabella watched the entire scene with tremendous embarrassment. 

Once finished with her duties, the young girl quickly backed out of the room leaving her brother in the doorway. The young man stood there holding his hand out but Pernilla merely sauntered up to the door, smiled, and closed it in his face. Isabella rolled her eyes and gasped.

“I think he was waiting for his _baksheesh_,” the cleric informed the Reaver once she was sure the boy had left. Pernilla continued to disrobe, pulling her long, black, wavy hair free from the leather cord that bound it.

“I think he was well compensated for his troubles.” Pernilla grinned at the cleric, standing proudly before her, naked from the waist down and her tunic now fully open. Isabella could not help but stare.

_Has this woman no sense of shame?!_ the cleric thought to herself. She made a mental note to track down the boy later and slip him a silver piece – if for no other reason than to keep his mouth shut. 

When Pernilla finally slipped out of her tunic, Isabella was offered her first full view of the naked woman in the light of day. Pernilla was tall and somewhat lean. Although her physique was not as robust as her fellow male meleeists, Pernilla’s strength was obvious. Her body retained just enough padding to mask her well-developed muscles, as well as provide her with a healthy bosom. Even beneath the muscles and the fading bruises across her legs and right arm, Isabella saw the raw femininity that others would have missed. She only wished she could see woman behind the big brown eyes.

When her attempts to pierce the fog obscuring the woman’s soul failed yet again, Isabella’s eyes drifted down to Pernilla’s chest. The cleric blushed. Pernilla’s breasts were full and possessed a slight droop. Her nipples were bright red and beginning to stiffen in the cool evening air. Isabella was almost jealous.

The young cleric’s thoughts were interrupted when Pernilla approached, reached over, and placed her hands on Isabella’s hips.

“Water’s getting cold.” Pernilla’s voice was soft and Isabella felt a little more at ease as the woman began tugging at her leggings. However, her discomfort returned once her last garment was shed. Isabella hid her bosom under her arm until she was immersed up to her neck in the hot water. The young cleric was not sure what was to come but Pernilla soon followed and climbed into the tub behind her.

Pernilla leaned over the side of the tub and grabbed a small bag containing an odd porous object and a few glass vials of mysterious liquids. Once situated, she pulled Isabella back so that the young woman was resting against her breasts. The pair fit snugly together in the small tub. The older woman pulled out the wooden clasp was holding Isabella’s hair up, allowing the light-brown locks to fall around her shoulders and into the water.

Pernilla buried her nose in Isabella’s hair and inhaled deeply. Although her hair was not overly soiled, Isabella’s scent was just at the threshold of natural odor, active grime and a small hint of dried blood from her now healed injury. It was an aroma that Pernilla found incredibly arousing. Setting aside her urges for the time being, Pernilla poured a small amount of liquid from the blue vial onto the sponge and dragged it across Isabella’s neck and shoulders. Isabella sat back, allowing herself to be washed. The oil the woman was using released an exotic scent that Isabella recognized as cinnamon. The stimulating fragrance – coupled with the sensations the semi-course sponge created – allowed Isabella forget her troubles for the moment.

The older woman drizzled more of the cinnamon oil onto the sponge and gently rubbed it over Isabella’s skin. The action began to slowly break through the dirt. After several moments of silence, Pernilla nuzzled her friend’s ear.

“What are you thinking?” the older woman asked without interrupting the task of Isabella’s cleansing. Her unease ever present, the young cleric remained silent and shifted nervously under her companion’s touch. Pernilla grinned behind the young woman as she seemed to draw enjoyment from Isabella’s discomfort. Releasing a soft, squealing sigh, Pernilla wrapped her arms around her friend and squeezed gently. “Perhaps I should venture a guess.” The woman paused for a moment. 

“You are confused.” Pernilla expected no response and received none. “And you are angry with me.” She allowed her words to sink in. Isabella did more than hear the woman’s words. Her abilities gave her insight into Pernilla’s emotions and she could tell that the older woman was apologizing without uttering the actual apology. But it was the emotion that accompanied Pernilla’s next statement that startled Isabella the most. 

“But you’re still here.” 

Isabella turned her head in an attempt to look the woman in the eyes. 

“You hurt me,” Isabella stated as she faced forward again. Pernilla drew the sponge down over Isabella’s breasts, below the water, and over her legs.

“You were hurting when I found you, Izzie,” the Reaver replied. “What was his name?” Isabella stiffened and Pernilla waited for a reply but with none forthcoming, she pressed her lips close to the young cleric’s ear and whispered. “Very well. No need to tell me now.” Pernilla was not all that interested in Isabella’s past anyway. The young woman’s future held much more interest for her.

“So what kept you from leaving that night?” Isabella was caught completely off guard by the question. “I released you from your bonds and you were free to go.” Pernilla leaned in and whispered in the young woman’s other ear, “Although I am glad that you didn’t.” The Reaver grinned.

“I-I…” Isabella’s voice cracked. Pernilla knew perfectly well she would not get an answer. However, Isabella was different from her previous lovers and Pernilla was anxious to find out more about her. “Y-your behavior confuses me, Pernilla.” Isabella was regaining some of her composure. “You show me kindness one moment and great cruelty not a breath later. Although I suppose I should expect such deviance from a servant of Arawn.” The young cleric’s tone bristled with contempt as she spoke the name. Pernilla smiled and laughed.

“Deviance? You’re one to talk, dear.” 

Isabella spat a reply but was cut off. 

“Besides, I’m no _servant_ of Arawn.”

“How can you deny-?”

“I take his gifts, lass, and for that I perform the odd task.” Pernilla narrowed her eyes at her friend. “But I serve no one.” Isabella recoiled slightly as the older woman brought her hand up, expecting to be struck across the face. However, Pernilla only pushed a lock of wet hair from the cleric’s face. Isabella relaxed and – after a moment – nodded at her companion.

“You walk a dangerous path, Pernilla.” Pernilla pulled the naked cleric close and clasped her free hand around Isabella’s small fingers.

“Hmmmm,” she sighed. “The same could be said about you. What was that spell you cast on me during the battle with the troll?” Isabella sucked in her breath, her voice caught in her throat. After a long silence, she answered.

“_Manus Dei._” 

“Cast upon a disciple of Arawn, no less,” Pernilla stated. “A heretic in the eyes of the Church.”

“Cast upon a comrade in need,” Isabella corrected. Pernilla wrapped her arms around her companion and squeezed.

“A comrade. Or am I more than that?”

Isabella closed her eyes and clutched her knees to her chin. Despite the warm water, her body quivered with each breath as she tried to quell the apprehension threatening to rise to the surface. Pernilla sensed the conflict within. Pressing her cheek against Isabella’s neck, Pernilla did her best to soothe her young friend. Isabella’s mind raced with the thoughts of what she had done and her terribly-confusing feelings for Pernilla.

Then there was the man and woman in her dream – a dream that had change for the first time in years. 

_Have I lost them forever_, Isabella wondered. The girl – her destiny – needed her. _And what of Eirik?_ Isabella winced at the very thought of that man. She was so angry with him. She swore she would kill him if she ever saw him again despite the fact that she loved him.

_It’s all so confusing._ A kiss on her left temple finally eased Isabella down from her panic but did not help her sort her feelings.

“I’m not entirely,” Isabella paused trying to disentangle herself from the woman’s arms, “comfortable with this.”

“Really? Why not?” Pernilla refused to relinquish her prize, or the opportunity to debate the merits of her chosen path in life. Isabella gave up her struggle for the time being and accepted the kisses that the Reaver began planting across her back.

“It’s just…wrong. The Bible states ‘Man shall not lie with man as he does woman.’” 

Pernilla stopped and rested her chin on Isabella’s shoulder. “Huh, interesting,” she pretended to contemplate, having had this conversation before. “Doesn’t say anything about what a woman can do, though.” 

Isabella could feel the woman’s smile on her skin. “You know perfectly well–!”

“I like your Bible,” Pernilla interrupted, “it’s filled with amusing stories. But I’ve always preferred the poems: 

_Sicut vitta coccinea labia tua et eloquium tuum dulce sicut fragmen mali punici ita genae tuae absque eo quod intrinsecus latet._  
_Sicut turris David collum tuum quae aedificata est cum propugnaculis mille clypei pendent ex ea omnis armatura fortium._  
_Duo ubera tua sicut duo hinuli capreae gemelli qui pascuntur in liliis._” 

Pernilla’s voice had taken on a mystical tone and softness that startled the young cleric. Isabella was astonished at a Reaver’s knowledge of the holy book. 

“Beautiful, is it not?” the Reaver asked. The young cleric did not know what to say.

“Yes,” Isabella said softly. “Solomon had a way with words.” 

Pernilla gave Isabella an abrupt kiss on the neck and tilted her head back. The Reaver gently sponged copious amounts of bath water through Isabella’s hair then massaged some balm into her scalp.

“That psalm reminds me a little of you.” Pernilla sighed longingly before looking down at Isabella’s small breasts and brushing the sponge lightly over her nipples. “Well, a _little_,” she quipped with a chuckle. Isabella shot an angry look at her companion but Pernilla returned it with a kiss on the forehead. “But I think a more appropriate poem for us would be:

γλύκηα μᾶτερ, οὔτοι δύναμαι κρέκην τὸν ἴστον  
πόθῳ δάμεισα παῖδος βραδίναν δι᾽ Ἀφροδίταν.”

“What’s that?” Isabella was befuddled.

“It’s Greek. 

“Yes, I know it’s Greek. What does it _mean?_”

Pernilla wrapped her arms around Isabella, leaned in close to her ear, and whispered:

“Sweet mother, I cannot weave –  
slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing for a girl.”

Pernilla’s voice gave Isabella a chill and her heart leapt into her throat. Pernilla finished rinsing Isabella’s hair and brushed the wet sponge across the cleric’s cheek. Turning Isabella’s head around and looking into her eyes, Pernilla smiled at her. 

“We’re not so different, you and I, Izzie.” The nickname comforted Isabella despite the memories associated with it. Pernilla leaned forward and planted her lips on Isabella’s. The young woman did not attempt to stop her and felt her lover’s tongue slip between her lips to gently rake across her teeth. 

As the raven-haired woman dropped the sponge and began running her hands down her companion’s side, Isabella allowed herself to be lost in the sensations. Not for many summers had she felt such emotions welling up from her heart. At least…she hoped it was her heart. For now she was willing to accept some passion into her life. Isabella broke the kiss and gasped for breath when she felt Pernilla’s fingers tickle her inner thigh.

“You’ve done this before,” Isabella said softly. “Haven’t you?” The young cleric’s mind was suddenly swimming with doubt and confusion. She looked up at the woman who was trying to seduce her…again. Pernilla smirked but removed the patronizing look and replaced it with what she felt was a more appropriate expression. Turning Isabella around to face her fully, Pernilla stroked the young woman’s cheek.

“Is that a problem, Izzie?” Isabella’s face turned from its normal pink to a deep crimson. Pernilla could feel the heat radiating from the young woman’s cheeks.

“So that is it? I’m just another conquest to you?” Isabella wanted to be furious, but instead she felt more humiliated than ever. The young cleric tried to get out of the tub but Pernilla maintained a firm grip on her wrists and pulled her back down.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Pernilla was serious for a change. “You are looking for excuses.” The Reaver pulled Isabella’s face close. “Yes, there have been others. Dozens!” Pernilla’s voice rose in anger and Isabella cringed in fear once again. Seeing the desired affect her words had on her companion, Pernilla relaxed her tone slightly. “I’m no nun, Izzie. I’ve seen a lot more flesh than you can imagine and I do not remember even _half_ their names.” Isabella was hardly surprised by this revelation.

“But I remember each one of their faces,” Pernilla concluded. Isabella saw the heart of the woman’s soul flare brightly, its normal chilling blue aura replaced with a passionate red. The young cleric was looking deep in the woman’s eyes when Pernilla cocked her head to the side, waiting for a response.

“Dozens, you say?” the cleric asked rhetorically. Pernilla frowned indicating she wanted Isabella to discontinue dwelling on the matter.

“Some of them even begged for it.” Isabella looked incredulous imparting a giggle from the Reaver. “There can be no pleasure without pain, little one,” Pernilla added with a grin. Isabella digested the words for a moment when Pernilla’s voice interrupted. 

“But there were others…” The woman trailed off and smiled at the memories of some of her less willing partners.

“Others like me?” the cleric interjected, reading Pernilla’s emotions.

“Oh, not like _you_, Izzie.” Pernilla’s eyes beamed and she pulled her new lover close, splashing a considerable amount of water out of the tub. “You’re special.”

“Why is that?” Isabella queried, not allowing Pernilla to escape that easily. Pernilla rolled her eyes. The young cleric was nothing special at first. It was true that Pernilla was looking for nothing more than a satisfying romp that night. However, there was something about this member of the Church that sparked a change in Pernilla – a change that did not go unnoticed. 

“You didn’t leave.” Pernilla nuzzled her lover’s cheek and brushed her lips across her nose, kissing her way down to Isabella’s lips.

_Neither did you_, Isabella reminded herself silently as she returned the woman’s embrace accompanied by an even deeper kiss. Pernilla moaned with genuine enthusiasm.

“Besides, I’ve always wanted a self-healing lover, Izzie,” the older woman whispered between breaths.

“Huh?” 

Isabella’s confusion did not last very long. The young cleric felt a sharp shock when Pernilla’s teeth nipped at her lower lip. The love bite was mild, but enough to elicit a yelp from the victim. Isabella drew back in surprise and touched her lip. She gasped when she saw the blood on her fingers and instinctively uttered a healing prayer as she touched the wound again. A soft, golden glow enveloped her fingers for a heartbeat and then faded. The tingle in her lip remained as a reminder of the injury but Isabella knew her spell had healed the wound. Pernilla observed her lover’s actions with a mix of lust and awe. 

Isabella looked up at Pernilla. The woman appeared to be on the edge of leaping upon her for another attack and Isabella bolted from the tub. Naked and with nowhere to go, Isabella retreated to the corner of the room awaiting Pernilla’s response. The Reaver simply crawled slowly from the tub, grabbed a towel, and approached Isabella who shrank back slightly as Pernilla wrapped the dry towel around her shoulders. Her eyes filled with anger, Isabella looked up at Pernilla as she dried her off.

“Do not do that again…_ever_,” the cleric said firmly. Pernilla hushed her friend, still massaging her through the towel.

“I promise,” Pernilla whispered. “Won’t happen again.” Pernilla bit her lower lip in what would appear to the outsider as mock petulance, but Isabella could see that at least the woman’s feelings were sincere.

“Tell me why you came to the tavern that night,” Pernilla asked in between planting tiny kisses on her lover’s cheeks. Isabella hesitated for a moment.

“I needed a friend.” Pernilla stopped and smiled down at her.

“You’ve found more than a friend,” the woman replied, cradling Isabella’s face in her hand.

“But I still need a _friend_.” Isabella’s green eyes pleaded to Pernilla.

“I can be anything you want. Your friend. Your lover.” Pernilla moaned and kissed the young woman’s forehead. “Your ‘Mistress’…?”

“I will _not_ be calling you that!” Isabella growled angrily. Pernilla placed a finger to the cleric’s lips.

“Just a jest, Izzie.” Isabella narrowed her eyes at Pernilla who simply smiled in return. “Come to bed.”

.

.

.

_continued_


	11. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Published June 23rd, 2020

Pernilla smiled and pulled her naked companion towards the bed by the hand. Isabella’s stomach fluttered as she tried to imagine what the older Briton woman had in mind for her now. Pernilla climbed onto the bed and guided Isabella up beside her. With the two of them kneeling, Isabella found the disparity in height lessened, making kissing her Pernilla easier. The two women locked their lips for many moments while their hands explored each other’s bodies.

Isabella was cautious. This was her first time touching another woman so intimately. Pernilla purred playfully when she felt Isabella’s fingers make contact with the ebony curls between her thighs. Isabella retreated, having misinterpreted the response but her companion gently guided her hand back to Pernilla’s wet nook. 

Leaving Isabella to explore further, Pernilla cradled the young woman’s head in her hands and continued her own explorations of the cleric’s lips. With renewed confidence, Isabella slipped a finger between the hot folds of Pernilla’s sex. At first, she could not tell if the wetness was from the bath or from Pernilla’s lust but the slippery secretions soon made themselves apparent. Pernilla sighed and rested her cheek on Isabella’s wet hair. Not wanting to interrupt her companion’s discovery, Pernilla rested the young woman’s head on her shoulder and gently ran her hands over her back.

Isabella’s skin tingled under the woman’s touch but she kept as much of her concentration on Pernilla’s pleasure as she could. The young cleric had been under the authority of the church for a long time and had denied herself the joys of self-pleasure. As a result, her familiarity with her own sex – and that of another woman’s – was limited to her carefree days as an acolyte. But Pernilla did not seem to mind. Every manipulation, twist, turn, and caress seemed to elicit a pleasured, high-pitched moan from Isabella’s lover. 

When Isabella’s fingers found Pernilla’s clit, Pernilla gasped and clutched her companion tightly. The young woman had learned this to be a good sign and drew her fingers slowly across the tiny bud.

“Mmmf! _Bòzhe mòi!_” Pernilla grunted, muttering in a strange language. Isabella’s fingers quickened their pace over the woman’s clitoris. Pernilla was thrilled. Nothing in life compared to teaching a young woman the joys her body could provide, especially one so supposedly innocent and reserved. Pernilla began regretting having never before tried to seduce a member of the Church.

Isabella continued caressing the woman’s sex in a manner she felt best imitated what had been done to her during that first night in Pernilla’s bed. Her confidence grew and her fingers danced over Pernilla’s wet sex, eliciting gasps from the older woman. Soon Pernilla had to push Isabella away due to the intensity of the manipulations. Panting, the older woman held Isabella at arm’s length and took in the image of her body. 

In the last of the full light of day, Pernilla examined the vision she had first glimpsed in the church more closely. Isabella’s hair was darkened by the water and pulled back from her face leaving on a few strands plastered against her right cheek. The young woman’s skin was pale even where it was left unprotected by clothing or armor. The light dusting of freckles across Isabella’s cheeks continued across her shoulders – a testament to her skin’s sensitivity to the sun. Pernilla traced her fingers over Isabella’s skin and let out a lustful sigh

_A face without freckles is like a night without stars_, she thought.

Pernilla glanced lower. The cleric’s frame was short and compact, but did not appear overly muscular. If the woman possessed any raw strength, it was hidden beneath a delightful layer of flesh. But it was a plumpness that did not extend to Isabella’s bosom. Pernilla smirked. The poor Isabella may not have very much up top, Pernilla thought, but she had an arse that would make a eunuch weep. 

Isabella saw raw, unbridled lust in the woman’s eyes as she was being examined. 

The cleric’s lips parted slightly but, before she could say anything, Pernilla shoved her down onto the bed. Pernilla loved the look of surprise in her lovers’ eyes when she took control. Each one responded a little differently – each according to her personality – but they all surrendered control. Pernilla watched Isabella intently as she crawled over her. The young woman’s eyes were heavy with lust but retained a hint of fear. Pernilla did not wish to extinguish that fear entirely but a more relaxed lover at this stage would make things much easier.

“Don’t move, little one.”

Pernilla leaned in for a firm kiss before running her tongue gently across her lover’s lips. Isabella was amazed at the woman’s skill as she felt Pernilla’s tongue trace a slow, wet line over her cheek and down along her jaw line. The young woman closed her eyes and gasped as her lover continued down her neck across her collar bone, stopping only to gently nip at her ear lobe. Isabella’s eyes became wet with tears of excitement as her lover repeated the same caress on the other side of her face and neck.

For many moments, the only point of contact between the two women was where Pernilla chose to run her tongue across Isabella’s skin. Pernilla eventually made her way to her young lover’s breasts. Flattening out her tongue, she ran it over the left nipple leaving a heavy coating of saliva. Pernilla gently blew on the nipple sending a chill down Isabella’s spine.

“Oh!” Isabella whispered hoarsely. 

Pernilla grinned and encircled the stiffening bud with her lips. Isabella squeezed her eyes shut and tried to clasp her hands around her lover’s head. Pernilla grabbed Isabella’s wrists and returned them gently back on the bed. Isabella was left in exquisite agony. Pernilla flicked her tongue back and forth across Isabella’s nipple all while keeping it trapped between her lips. Isabella uttered a series of desperate grunts, begging for release. Pernilla grinned – with the cleric’s nipple still between her lips.

After repeating the process on Isabella’s other breast, Pernilla released Isabella’s nipple with a gentle nip with her teeth. The young woman panted and gulped for breath. Isabella’s body tingled. When she at last opened her eyes, she looked up at the grinning woman above her.

“Wha-what are you-” Isabella’s words were cut short by Pernilla’s finger to her lips.

“You’ll see, little one.” Pernilla traced her finger across the young woman’s lips until they parted. Isabella began to salivate when the Reaver insinuated the digit between her lips. The young cleric sucked gently as she watched her lover’s lust grow. Pernilla was elated by Isabella’s response. She wondered why she did not detect such latent sensuality in her before. When Isabella began nibbling on her finger, Pernilla decided it was time to push things further.

Kissing her way down between Isabella’s breasts, Pernilla tickled the young cleric’s tummy before settling comfortably on her stomach between Isabella’s legs. The older woman smiled as she saw the lips of her lover’s sex swollen and peeking through her pubic hair. Running her fingers through the dark brown curls, Pernilla inhaled the heady scent emanating from between Isabella’s legs. Isabella’s heart pounded in her chest in anticipation but she was unprepared for what happened next.

Isabella felt something soft and warm part the lips of her sex. She quickly realized it was Pernilla’s already proven agile tongue. Isabella was almost mortified, but Pernilla’s skilled tongue on her vulva quickly washed away all thoughts of disgust.

“Oh my God!” the cleric said breathlessly. Even the third commandment no longer concerned Isabella in light of her current situation. She realized she had gone beyond the limits that the Church had set forth; Pernilla had taken her there. 

_This incredible woman!_ Isabella thought. 

The young cleric clenched her toes and squirmed. Soon, Pernilla’s tongue stole all thoughts from Isabella’s mind and she concentrated on the sensations between her thighs. Her sex was the center of the world for now. Pernilla grinned, recognizing the point where her lovers lose all will to resist.

Pernilla moved lower from the young woman’s clitoris and began probing as far into her quim as her tongue could reach. Pernilla’s tongue was made for pleasing a woman, a fact she was reminded of with every lover. She hoped that Isabella was similar in that respect. The young cleric, however, had no idea what Pernilla had in mind for her, nor did she care at this moment.

Isabella writhed with pleasure as she felt her lover’s long tongue snake its way deep into her sex. She tried to grab the back of Pernilla’s head to pull her further in but Pernilla quickly grabbed Isabella’s wrists again. Pinning her wrists to the sheets, Pernilla hoped Isabella would get the message. However her young lover would not take heed until Pernilla squeezed her wrists tightly.

“Ow!” Isabella cried. Looking down at her lover, the young cleric noticed Pernilla’s stern eyes and realized what was at issue. Pernilla was in control, but there was more to it that the cleric would never understand. Pernilla was cautious, and a warrior at heart, be it on the battlefield, the dueling grounds, or in the bedroom. She was weary of her partners getting the upper hand.

Their unspoken understanding reached, Pernilla released Isabella’s wrists and went back to pleasuring her. Isabella clutched the bed sheets as the intensity of her lust rose. Pernilla was careful and almost deliberate as she lapped at the cleric’s sex. A light aroma of cinnamon covered Isabella’s vulva but Pernilla had quickly washed it away leaving only the pure taste of the younger woman’s juices. Pernilla’s greatest pleasure – and that of her partner – was to taste the honey deep inside for which she was quite adept at getting.

After what seemed an eternity to Isabella, Pernilla took one last lick of the tunnel leading to her lover’s womb and began to concentrate on the sensitive bud above. Isabella whimpered and arched her back. Without relinquishing her assault on her clitoris, Pernilla looked up to see Isabella’s head thrown back in ecstasy. Now she knew it was time to drive the poor young woman to the edge.

Pernilla slipped two fingers into Isabella’s slick tunnel and firmly massaged the spongy tissues above while sucking on her clitoris. Isabella could not help herself. Her climax arrived with tremendous force nearly causing her to faint. Clamping her hands over her mouth to muffle her ecstasy, Isabella screamed.

“Oh God!” she cried out many times, louder than she could suppress. Pernilla shuddered. Experiencing her lover’s climax this way was nearly as pleasurable as her own. She had to resist the urge to slip her fingers to her own clit and finish herself off. The evening belonged to both of them and Pernilla wanted her first climax to be under the influence of her new lover.

Isabella was in heaven, panting on the bed. Although she had experienced incredible emotional passion before, the sheer physical intensity of her climax with Pernilla left her breathless. When the young cleric’s mind returned to earth, she replayed the experience again and again, trying to understand her feelings. Isabella had almost forgotten her lover’s presence and barely had time to react when a pair of lips coated with her own juices clamped firmly down on her own.

“Mmmmf!” the young woman muffled a cry. Isabella struggled against the embrace, feeling instinctively repulsed but Pernilla would not relent. Kissing her deeply, Pernilla gave the cleric a healthy taste of her own honey. Aided by the gentle stroking of her cheek, Isabella soon overcame her initial aversion and began lapping at Pernilla’s lips. Pernilla moaned with joy.

“I knew there was passion in you the moment I first laid my eyes on you,” she whispered seductively after breaking the kiss. Isabella responded with soft panting. Her heavy-lidded eyes and crimson lips betrayed her level of excitement. Pernilla could not have been happier with Isabella. 

Pulling the young cleric up with her, the Reaver kneeled on the bed and embraced her lover for a moment before reclining at the opposite end. Pernilla stretched out seductively against several cushions, enjoying the feeling of the scratchy linen against her bare skin. Isabella watched as the woman’s legs parted and the lips of her sex winked open ever so slightly.

In contrast to Isabella, Pernilla’s body was tall and lean, but not overly muscular. The Reaver maintained a healthy physique and was proud of her form. She delighted in teasing young men – and women – with it. Lying back, Isabella noticed the woman’s bosom hung differently. Rather than their usual proud upturn, Pernilla’s breasts fell gently to the side. The woman’s firey red nipples, however, remained pointing forward as if inviting the cleric. Pernilla enjoyed putting on a show for her lover but grew impatient and beckoned Isabella with her finger.

Isabella complied and approached her lover, falling to her hands and knees. Pernilla smiled and held the young woman’s head in her hands for a deep kiss. Isabella’s lips parted allowing Pernilla’s tongue access and soon their tongues were dueling gently. The young cleric closed her eyes and explored Pernilla’s body with her free hand.

Careful not to approach the woman’s face, Isabella gently traced her fingers down Pernilla’s arm. Pernilla emitted a throaty sigh and goose pimples rose from her flesh. Pernilla could not remember the last time a lover had elicited such a reaction. Emboldened by such a response, Isabella allowed her hand to drop further to the older woman’s breasts. After a experimental soft caress that tickled slightly, Isabella cupped Pernilla’s left breast feeling its weight. Pernilla’s breasts were more than the cleric’s small hand could accommodate but were still in perfect proportion to the rest of her body.

Isabella caressed the nipple with her thumb, causing it to stiffen. Breaking the kiss, the young cleric looked down to see what had just happened. Isabella was no stranger to this occurrence but the effect she was having on Pernilla’s body was an exhilarating – if not a little frightening – experience for her.

Pernilla squirmed under her lover’s manipulations. Brushing her hand away, Pernilla pushed Isabella lower until the cleric was level with her loins. Isabella looked at the tuft of black curly hair in awe. She gingerly ran her fingers over Pernilla’s inner thighs and through the curls before gently probing the hot folds that lay hidden beneath.

Pernilla sighed. Isabella’s inexperience left her dying for release. She wanted to beg the cleric, but her pride kept her. Pernilla drew Isabella’s eyes from her crotch with a high-pitched squeal. Trying to look as demure as possible without retching, Pernilla bit her lower lip and pleaded with Isabella with her eyes. Isabella took a moment to realize what was being asked of her.

“I-I…” Isabella began but was cut off.

“No words, Izzie. Please.” Pernilla shivered as she slipped her own hand over her mons and rubbed a finger through her folds. She removed the glistening digit and traced it lightly over Isabella’s lips. The cleric could smell the woman’s lust and – licking her lips – could taste it, too. The slightly sanguine flavor was mixed with the cinnamon oils from their bath but Pernilla’s unique flavor remained, a flavor to by which Isabella allowed herself to be seduced.

Lying on the bed, Isabella tentatively approached Pernilla’s sex, leaving light kisses on her inner thigh. When she reached the end of her journey, the young woman was met with the thick aroma of a woman desperate for release. Isabella closed her eyes and wriggled her tongue through the puffy folds. Pernilla shivered and nearly came when the young cleric’s tongue brushed her clitoris. 

As Isabella settled into an unskilled – if not steady – rhythm, Pernilla sighed and clasped her hands around the back of the cleric’s head and gently ran her fingers through her hair. Isabella was pulled firmly into the woman’s sex but she did not mind. The cleric’s tongue slipped lower seeking out new territory and tickled the fleshy folds below.

After a gentle probing, which heightened Pernilla’s excitement, Isabella’s tongue returned to the woman’s clit. Pernilla gasped, encouraging the young woman to concentrate on her sensitive bud. Isabella was delighted about the effect she was having on the normally composed Pernilla. However, giving oral pleasure was causing her tongue to grow quite tired. When Isabella tried to sit up, Pernilla pulled her firmly into her quim.

“Don’t stop!” Pernilla whispered hoarsely. 

Her voice was not filled with anger or dominance but pure lust. Isabella tried her best to continue the literal tongue lashing against the older woman’s clit. Eventually Pernilla began humping the poor young woman’s face and screamed as her climax overtook her body. Isabella grabbed onto the woman’s thighs for security and slowly brought her down with a gently lapping of the soft skin below her swollen clitoris.

When Pernilla released her grip on her head, Isabella gulped for air. The young cleric took several deep breaths and collapsed between Pernilla’s legs. There she lay, clinging to her lover’s thighs.

“My God,” Isabella whispered.

Pernilla remained silent and Isabella looked up to see what had happened to her lover. Pernilla’s eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell with each breath – but she did not respond to her lover’s voice.

“Pernilla?” 

Trained in healing, Isabella could see nothing wrong with her companion. The young cleric crawled up and gently nuzzled Pernilla’s neck before curling up on the older woman’s bosom. Without a word, Pernilla cradled her young lover, wrapping her arms around Isabella and stroking her back. Isabella returned the affection with a kiss on the top of Pernilla’s breast before settling down again and closing her eyes.

“Quite a find in this one,” Pernilla whispered.

“What?” Isabella said, lifting her head. Pernilla simply hushed her, pulling Isabella back to her bosom.

**◄●** **⌛●►**


	12. Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published June 29th, 2020

“By Eir…” Abaigeal whispered under her breath. Isabella spared her young lover only a few details of her encounter. “This…_Reaver_ …” The young woman was shocked and more confused than ever. “Why did she do this? Wh-why did you let her?” Abaigeal was almost speechless. Isabella wiped a tear from her eye. She trembled slightly at the memories of friends long gone.

“Why Pernilla acted the way she did? I do not know. Why didn’t I leave her? I needed her.” Isabella paused. “And she needed me.”

“I don’t under-”

“I was alone, Abaigeal. Pernilla – even in all her cruelty – comforted me during the time in my life when I needed comfort the most. And she was a soul in pain – in need of direction.” Isabella locked her eyes on Abaigeal as she said her next words. “Like your father.” 

Abaigeal sat in silence for many breaths and considered Isabella’s words. She was beginning to understand but many questions remained. Isabella saw the questioning look in the young woman’s eyes and continued.

“I fell in love with her, as I did with your father. I never did tell her so; I feared how she would react. Pernilla viewed such deep affection with incredible disdain. Or so I thought. She was a very difficult person to understand but she made me feel whole at a terrible time in my life.”

“Did she hurt you?”

“That’s…” Isabella paused, chewing her lip. “That’s a complicated question.”

Abaigeal could not repress the chuckle that ensued. Isabella smiled.

“Aye. Seems to be the story of my life, Abbie. A relationship with Pernilla was dangerous, in more ways than one. Making love with Pernilla was all about the passion; passion that could have gotten out of hand had she not been so careful. It was like nothing I had experienced with your father. With your father it was much more tender, caring.” Isabella blushed, worried that she had embarrassed Abaigeal. Abaigeal’s smile faded and she sighed.

“I wish I knew more about my mother and father.”

“Well based on your mother’s journal, she and your father were quite adventurous – more so than Eirik and I ever were!” Isabella poked her lover in the ribs and clicked her tongue, eliciting another smile from Abaigeal. “However, not with Pernilla. She made me feel like a virgin again.

“But our relationship was not one of equals. I detested it when she openly acted as though I was her pet but – together in private – she would expose a more tender side. Deep in her heart I sensed a painful, repressed memory. Pernilla’s wounds ran deep and I desperately wanted to help her – as I had failed to do so for your father.

“And so our life together continued that way for many moons. Until one day.”

**◄●** **⌛●►**

“Are you sure this is where the church said they would be?” Pernilla asked in her usual tone when she was irritated.

“Lady Marrian has never steered me wrong. I see no reason to question her now.” A few yards ahead of Pernilla, Isabella carefully pushed aside a swath of tall grass in search of their quarry. 

Pernilla protested every time the pair went on missions for the Church, or anything else Isabella wanted to do for that matter. The Reaver found them pointless and far too petty for her skills. Even now, as Isabella crouched in the tall grass of Salisbury plains on the edge of the forest, Pernilla stood up straight without a care about their safety.

It was a normal routine for the two women. Pernilla would begrudgingly comply. Isabella would silently suffer the older woman’s near constant complaints. However, by the end of the mission, Pernilla would be as happy as a friar who had found a bottomless mug of ale. Especially if there was a battle involved.

Isabella considered her requests fair compensation. Every time the cleric assisted Pernilla on one of her Arawnite tasks, she risked death from the mission or worse: expulsion from the church.

“There they are.” Isabella pointed towards the trees. “Just beyond the edge of the forest.” Pernilla crouched down behind Isabella and rested her chin on her companion’s shoulder. In a small camp beyond the edge of Campacorentin Forest, resided about two dozen armed men. Isabella had been sent to search for the camp and bring back evidence of the occupant’s allegiance.

“We only need one. They all should be carrying it with them,” Isabella said quietly.

“Aye. We need to quietly snag a straggler.” Pernilla would never admit to it openly but even she could not hold off so many aggressors at once. The pair slowly approached the camp until they were just out of earshot and settled behind a large tree.

“How are we going to get just one?” Isabella asked. “Any ideas?” she said when she received no response the first time. “Nel?” Getting up to look for her companion, the filthiest face Isabella had ever encountered greeted her. Standing directly in front of her was a scout for the camp. The mercenary scout bore a salacious grin and drew his sword in the blink of an eye.

Isabella yelped and was pinned against the tree with the tip of the man’s blade at her throat. The mercenary continued grinning as he examined his prize.

“Oh you’re a lovely one, aren’t ye?” Isabella gulped. The man’s words revealed her worst fear. “I think I’ll ‘ave a little fun before I take ye back to the lads for some proper questioning.” Isabella’s voice froze in her throat. She wanted to scream but only a whimper escaped her lips.

“Oh, don’t even bother screaming but ye can if ye like; makes it more fun that way.” The young cleric nearly wet herself as the man’s free hand reached for her belt. A breath later, a thick splatter of blood splashed across Isabella’s face as the spiked ball of Pernilla’s flail struck the side of the man’s head. With a muffled _thud_, the mercenary fell to the ground.

Isabella was still in shock. She opened her eyes to see Pernilla standing beside the man’s lifeless body, a smug look on her face.

“Well, that worked well, didn’t it?” Pernilla grabbed a small medallion off the man’s belt and grinned at her friend. Covered in blood, Isabella glared at Pernilla. It was a look that could have melted the glaciers of Gripklosa.

**◄●►**

The pair walked in silence along the path that cut through the thick trees of Campacorentin Forest towards Castle Ulfwych. Isabella kept several steps behind Pernilla. The young cleric was fuming mad. Trying to clean the blood from her face with a wet rag, Isabella finally threw the cloth to the ground and shouted.

“Why did you abandon me like that?” The young woman’s voice reached a level higher than Pernilla thought possible. The Reaver turned around and cocked an eyebrow at her companion.

“What are you complaining about? We got your trinket, didn’t we?”

“That’s not the point, dammit!” Isabella had never been this furious in front of Pernilla before and she did not know how she would react. But at that moment, she did not care. Pernilla simply rolled her eyes and continued walking down the forest path.

“I could have been killed!”

“No you could _not_ have been killed,” Pernilla replied evenly. Her attitude only served to infuriate Isabella further. Isabella continued shouting and stomped up to the older woman. 

“Don’t you _ever_-” The cleric’s words were cut short as Pernilla spun around and intercepted Isabella with a hand to her throat. Slamming the younger woman against a tree, Pernilla drew nose-to-nose with the struggling cleric and glowered. Isabella was certain she had pushed Pernilla too far and her end was near.

“Cease this incessant whining! Hear me, and hear me well, cleric,” Pernilla lowered her voice and spoke calmly, her eyes burning with anger. “As long as this body draws breath,” Pernilla punctuated her words with a fist to her own chest, “nothing will _ever_ be allowed to touch you. Understand?” Isabella clutched at the woman’s wrist and finally nodded when she realized the question was not rhetorical.

Even though the grip had not been tight enough to constrict her airway, Isabella took a deep gasp when Pernilla released her throat. Without a word, Pernilla turned and continued down the path, leaving Isabella to swallow her tears.

**◄●►**

The two women spoke not a word to each other the rest of the way and when they arrived at their lodging in Castle Ulfwych, an uncomfortable silence hung in their small room. Pernilla inspected and cleaned her weapon. Isabella watched her, sitting on the bed. 

The young cleric absentmindedly touched her throat. When she heard a shuffle, Isabella jerked her hand away. Pernilla had dropped her chain tunic to the floor before returning her attention to the blood-covered flail.

For what seemed an eternity for Isabella, the only sound in the room was that of cloth on metal as Pernilla wiped her favorite weapon clean. The journey to Ulfwych had given Isabella much time to think. Pernilla’s mood had been unreadable. Isabella wanted desperately to speak but she feared her lover’s response. Outside of battle, she had never seen Pernilla so angry before.

After many moments, Isabella took a deep, silent breath and spoke her next words carefully.

“I would like to visit my family in the next fortnight.” The cleric received no response. “It’s nearing the end of the autumn harvest and it is a traditional time of celebration in Ludlow.” 

“Very well, go visit them. You’re not my prisoner,” Pernilla said casually, not bothering to look up from her task. Pernilla’s frustration with Isabella had grown somewhat in the past few weeks. She was beginning to question the convenience of their “relationship.” Isabella tested Pernilla’s limits and often surreptitiously probed her about the more personal aspects of her past. What Isabella hoped to discover about her, Pernilla never understood. The Reaver always suspected it was something more than simply trying to convert her to the Christian god.

_Perhaps it is time to set this one loose_, Pernilla thought.

Pernilla’s dismissive tone stung Isabella deeply. The cleric was not sure if her lover meant them, or if anger coated her words. It took all of Isabella’s courage to speak her next sentence.

“I-I would like you to come with me.” 

Isabella did not realize it, but Pernilla nearly dropped her weapon. The invitation caused a momentous, albeit frightening, milestone for the Reaver: 

Pernilla was at a loss for words. 

Her young companion had truly caught her off guard, something that rarely happened.

“Why?” the older woman said, not yet turning to face Isabella. Isabella had hoped for a somewhat more committed response than that.

“Please, Nel?” 

Pernilla’s gut tightened. She hated it when Isabella called her that. It was not because she hated the name itself – she found it quite appealing – but the fact that her young companion had given her a pet name made her extremely uncomfortable for some reason. 

The silence between the two women was growing and Pernilla knew she had to say something quickly.

“Very well.” Pernilla could not believe her own words and hid her face in her work before Isabella saw. Isabella was relieved and elated, however she suppressed any outward display of her feelings. 

_Baby steps_, Isabella thought. She did not want to push her lover too far. 

**◄●►**

As nightfall cast an even darker shroud on Campacorentin Forest, Isabella returned to their room with food. The two women ate and chatted as though much of the day’s events had not taken place. Isabella examined the medallion they had found on the dead mercenary before returning it to her pack and curling up alongside her companion. Pernilla extinguished the solitary candle and wrapped her arms around Isabella but the cleric lay awake.

“Are you angry with me?” Isabella finally managed asked. Pernilla said nothing but instead hugged the naked cleric tightly. Isabella tried to turn over to say something but the older woman clamped her lips over her young lover’s mouth. Isabella wanted an answer but a hand snaking its way between her legs caused her to forget the question.

_Is this the _only_ way to shut her up?_ Pernilla mused. _Now how the _hell_ am I going to get out of this visit?_

**◄●►**

A day before the autumn equinox, Pernilla and Isabella walked side-by-side through the amber fields of grain that covered the lands surrounding the town of Ludlow. It had been many months since Isabella had been by this part of Albion, and even longer since she had seen her family. The cleric’s stomach was tied in knots.

Pernilla, however, was bored. She never liked the lands north of Camelot to begin with but now she was being dragged away from her favorite pastime: killing things. But the Reaver decided that the trip was not going to be a total loss. After all she would get to see her companion squirm as she tried to explain Pernilla to her family. Even after she swapped out her whip for a sword as they approached the farm, Pernilla knew that it would not take a wizard to realize she was a follower of Arawn. Plus there was the issue of why Isabella did not mind sharing a bed with her female companion.

As the pair came within view of a small cottage beside a field, Isabella’s anxiety grew. When a young boy came running towards them and yelling, Isabella knew it was too late to back out. The young lad looked to be about ten seasons old to Pernilla. However, Isabella knew that the boy – her little brother – had just turned eleven not one month before. She patted her rucksack to make sure the gift was still there. The young boy charged at the pair – a giant smile on his face – and leapt into his sister’s arms.

“Izzie! You’re home! I thought you weren’t coming!” The boy turned to Pernilla and smiled. Pernilla chuckled at the two siblings. “Hi!” the boy said.

“Hello there, lad,” Pernilla replied, not quite sure what to make of the boy.

“Pernilla, this is my brother, Sean. Sean, this is my friend, Pernilla.” The Reaver grinned at the word “friend.” Pernilla also noted that the young woman’s barely perceptible country accent had become much more prominent all of the sudden.

Sean’s eyes were wide with awe. “Hello, m’lady!” he exclaimed, looking up at the tall Briton woman.

“Izzie!” came another voice, this one belonging to a plump woman trotting towards the trio. “Andrev! Look who’s here!” Pernilla examined the newcomers. The woman – who she could only guess was Isabella’s and Sean’s mother – was deceptively plump, keeping most of her rather pleasant form hidden beneath her clothes. The middle-aged woman kept her short, grey hair held back with a colorful head scarf which showed off more of her face, accentuating her chubby features.

The man who emerged from the nearby barn was the perfect counterpart to the woman. The one called Andrev was short like his wife and very stocky. Pernilla recognized the physique as pure muscle, though. The man was no stranger to physical labor and walked in a fashion that revealed he was no stranger to a fight. Bemused, Pernilla noted his face had the same jolly look as his wife’s.

“There’s me girl!” the man said as he wiped his hands and stole his daughter from his wife for a hug. Isabella groaned as though the life was being squeezed out of her. “How ye doin’, lass? And who’s this?” he asked, turning to Pernilla 

“Mama, papa, this is Pernilla,” Isabella said once she regained the use of her lungs. “Pernilla, please meet my parents.”

“Andrev Spellsong, my lady!” the man greeted excitedly. “This is my gorgeous wife, Riva. And I see ye’ve met our other pride and joy, Sean. Welcome to our farm!” Pernilla extended her hand to the man who took it but she was unprepared for the bear-like hug that followed. Andrev was the friendly type, but Pernilla was not expecting such a warm welcome from country folk. She looked to Isabella uncertainly who simply shrugged.

“Please, come in, everyone I’m preparing supper!”

“But it’s only midday, mama,” Isabella protested.

“Oh, Izzie, you have been spoiled by living in inns. Preparing a meal takes time!” With a wink, the woman disappeared into the small house followed by her husband. When they were alone again, Pernilla turned to Isabella.

“_Spellsong?_” Pernilla asked, laughing.

“Quiet!” Isabella shot back angrily. “It’s not my fault there was a bard in my family _ages_ ago.” Isabella stomped across the threshold leaving Pernilla in near hysterics.

**◄●►**

The evening meal at the Spellsong farm was a happy occasion and Pernilla observed the family with deep curiosity. There had been no questions about Pernilla’s profession, or her and Isabella’s relationship. All her family seemed to care about was that if she was a friend of their daughter’s then she was considered a member of the family. While her little brother Sean bombarded Pernilla incessantly with questions about monsters and invaders, Isabella’s father seemed content making the odd comment about politics and Camelot’s view towards the outlying shires.

Pernilla tried to get away at one point and join Isabella in the kitchen with her mother, but the little boy would not leave her alone.

“Sean, I have something for you,” Isabella said, seeing Pernilla in need of rescue.

“What?” The little boy’s eyes lit up. The cleric pulled her brother and companion back to the living room and fished through her pack. Sean knew what it was even before Isabella removed the protective cloth from the short sword.

“What did she get him this time?” Riva called from the kitchen. Andrev chuckled.

“A claymore twice his size,” her husband replied.

“Papa!” Isabella admonished her father. Riva poked her head through the kitchen door and furrowed her brow. Her eleven-year-old son held the small weapon by the ornate pommel and stared at the short, fine alloy blade.

“What did ye get him that for?”

“He needs to know the basics, mama.”

“Aye, Riva!” Andrev began. “He needs to defend his family from the hordes of charging hedgehogs we see every full moon!” Pernilla nearly spit out her cider laughing so hard at the man’s joke.

“Can I keep it, mama?” 

Riva frowned. “How is he going to learn to use it?” The young boy’s face dropped. Training was expensive, especially this far out from the major towns.

“I can teach him.” All eyes turned to Pernilla, who had said no more than a dozen words since her arrival. All of the sudden she felt uneasy being the center of attention. “Aye,” Pernilla finally said. “With a few pointers he can start to practice. Once a trainer sees he is already at a decent level they would be happy to train him further.” The silence that followed was murder to Pernilla.

“Then it’s settled, then!” Andrev bellowed. “The mighty warrior Pernilla will train my son, and then by the next full moon we will have an army and storm the walls of Camelot. By this time next year I will be king, thus giving my wife her rightful title as Queen of Albion!” Pernilla was not sure the man was serious or not until the family roared with laughter. Andrev winked at Pernilla. “I do thank ye, m’lady. I would be honored to have my son take training with ye.”

“Can we do it now?” Sean yelled, eager to learn.

“Good God, boy. Dinner comes first! These ladies have just arrived. I don’t want to be putting them to work so soon.”

**◄●►**

Pernilla continued to watch the family during dinner, marveling at the Spellsong’s hospitality and gentle nature. But Pernilla noticed that Isabella remained uneasy. She assumed that this was normal when you bring your lover to meet your family and fail to tell them certain details. But Pernilla did not care whether or not Isabella told her family; the free food and entertainment were well worth her time.

“Izzie, dear, would you like to help me clean?” Isabella rolled her eyes at the table before getting up to join her mother.

“It’s like I never left,” she whispered.

“Come, Lady Pernilla. Let them do women’s work while I show you the rest of the homestead.” Andrev pushed his bowl aside, spilling the remnants of his meal. 

“Can I come, too, papa?” Isabella’s brother nearly insisted on staying by his new teacher’s side.

“Out to the barn with ye, lad and finish yer chores first.” Sean pouted but left quickly to finish before the night grew too dark. “Aye, built this part with my own two hands…” Isabella chuckled as her father’s voice trailed off in the distance.

Isabella’s mother passed the wet, wooden bowls to her daughter as the two of them began the task of cleaning up. The two made idle chatter while they cleaned but Riva could tell her daughter holding something back. All of her adventures, as far as she knew, had been recounted at dinner but now was the time when mother and daughter talked about matters that were more private: matters concerning things other than the slaying of beasts and the defending of the realm. After a particularly long stretch of silence, Riva spoke.

“I’m sorry about Eirik, dear.” 

Isabella closed her eyes and stopped drying a wooden spoon. “Mother, please.”

“And the rest of your friends.” Riva added somberly. Riva studied her daughter. A mother could tell when her child was in pain. “I wish you had stayed longer. One day was hardly enough, especially after what you had been through.”

“I had to get back to the Church,” Isabella lied. Riva sighed and put her arm around her daughter’s waist.

“I just wanted to make sure my baby girl was alright. It’s good to see you happy again.” Riva kissed her daughter on the top of her head and went back to the task of cleaning up. “Lady Pernilla seems very nice. When did you meet her?”

“About four moons ago, right after I left home.”

“And how long have you two been _together?_” 

Isabella blanched. Frozen with dishes in hand, the young cleric was afraid to face her mother. When she finally found the courage to look, Isabella saw concern – not accusation – in her mother’s eyes. Isabella could not believe her mother knew.

“How…how did you…”

“The way you two look at each other. She hides it better than you do but you see the woman behind the mask better than anyone, I supose.” Riva smiled at her daughter, her eyes held a hint of sadness mixed with bittersweet joy.

“I-I thought you would be upset, maybe angry with me.” Isabella’s emotions were beginning to spill over. Riva wiped a few tears from her daughter’s eyes with a clean cloth.

“Oh, dear, I could never be angry with you! If my children are happy, then I would never interfere.” Riva looked into Isabella’s eyes. “Does she treat my daughter well?” Isabella did not know how to answer that question. She herself still did not fully understand her relationship with Pernilla, but she did know one thing.

“I love her, mama.” Isabella never thought she would say the words. 

Riva nodded. “And you cannot help who you fall in love with.” 

Isabella realized her mother’s words were never truer. Until that moment, the young cleric had been unable to come to terms with her feelings for Pernilla. Her constant conflict with her upbringing, the Church, and her relationship with her companion had kept her on edge since their first encounter. Isabella finally decided her feelings were based simply on affection for another person, and had nothing to do with the fact that Pernilla was a woman. However, Pernilla’s motivations may be much different; the fact of which Isabella was reminded by her mother’s next question.

“And she loves you?” Riva asked.

“It is…” Isabella hesitated. “It’s more complicated than that.” Riva eyed her daughter suspiciously.

“I imagine it’s simpler than you think it is, Izzie.” Riva sighed, stroked the back of Isabella’s neck and tried to console her daughter. “I am truly sorry about Eirik.”

“Please, mama, don’t mention his name again.” Isabella hugged her mother and Riva held her until they heard someone enter the kitchen.

“‘Ello?” Andrev sauntered into the kitchen, his fists on his hips in an unintentionally amusing parody of a man with a clue. “Something wrong with your friend, Izzie?”

“I thought she was with you, papa?”

“I went to the barn to check on the lad. When I came back she was running from the ‘ouse.” Isabella furrowed her brow at her father for a moment before the color drained from her face. The young cleric looked to her mother before dashing out the door. Andrev simply stood by the door looking perplexed. “What’s this all about?”

“Such a man, Andrev.” Riva gave her husband a sympathetic pat on the cheek before dragging him to the wash basin to finish the job Isabella had abandoned.

**◄●►**

Isabella was in a state of shear panic when she finally found Pernilla standing in a field not far from her family’s house. The cleric advanced cautiously, her friend’s back to her and arms wrapped tightly about her own torso. Approaching cautiously, Isabella could hear Pernilla’s slow, deep breathing. A puff of mist illuminated by the moon appeared with each of Pernilla’s breaths before quickly dissipating. 

_What happened to her?_ Isabella wondered. Did Pernilla overhear Isabella’s conversation with her mother? Isabella’s heart raced. She had told her mother things she would not dare tell Pernilla.

Pernilla did not acknowledge Isabella’s presence. As Isabella drew closer, she finally saw her friend’s face in the bright light of the full moon. There she saw a single tear on Pernilla’s cheek. The tall woman’s features were contorted as she suppressed her emotions, her lips trembling. Isabella was terrified despite the exhilaration of seeing her companion expose her feelings. However, she nearly jumped when Pernilla broke the silence.

“You have such a nice family.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“W-what?”

“You’re very lucky.” Pernilla took a deep breath. “_Scheisse_,” she cursed under her breath as she wiped the tears, which were now streaming down her face. Tucking the hand back under her arm, the woman sniffed and looked down. She drew a deep breath and held it before blowing it out slowly up at the stars. Isabella just stared. She wanted to know what Pernilla was feeling, what had upset her, and why. But Pernilla’s young lover could not find the words to ask. 

Isabella was certain Pernilla had overheard at least some of the conversation between her and her mother. The confession of Isabella’s true feelings, even if not to her, had caused Pernilla to flee but only as far as the edge of the Spellsong farm. Isabella was relieved once she realized that Pernilla’s flight had merely been instinct. Now it was Isabella’s turn to shed a tear for she had finally broken through. Isabella mused that if she had been more direct, Pernilla would probably have simply scoffed at her, or worse.

Isabella carefully wrapped her arms around her lover and pressed herself into Pernilla’s chest, careful not to engage the embrace too aggressively. The older woman simply stood there, seemingly oblivious to Isabella until she finally wrapped her arms around the young woman. Clutching Isabella’s head to her bosom, Pernilla quietly wept into her lover’s hair.

**◄●►**

“Is she alright, Izzie?” 

Isabella looked up at her younger brother and nodded. Once Pernilla’s tears had stopped, Isabella had brought her lover back to her family home amid thankfully few questions from the men of the household. But now Sean poked his head over the side of his sister’s bed and watched the two women; a look of confusion and concern on his face.

Isabella felt sorry for her brother. She was unsure if she would ever be able to tell him about her relationship. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell her father. And she cared not if the whole village knew because it would not change how she felt about Pernilla. But Isabella knew that her life would remain closed off from most others. However Isabella sensed something special about her brother. In his eyes she could tell someday he would know and accept his sister for who she was.

The young cleric looked from her brother’s face down to the woman whose head she cradled in her lap. Still fully clothed, save for her boots, Pernilla was curled up in a fetal position with a light blanket pulled tightly about her shoulders. Pernilla’s eyes were open but stared blankly into the burning hearth across the room. Isabella stroked the woman’s hair and knew this was not a good time for company.

“Sean?” she asked forming a plan. “Could you bring me something?”

“Aye, Izzie! What do you want?”

“A cup of hot milk for Nel.” Sean dashed from the room and headed for the kitchen to fulfill Isabella’s request. After a moment, Pernilla spoke for the first time since they left the field.

“I don’t want anything.”

“It will help you sleep.” 

Pernilla realized her friend would not accept refusal and accepted the beverage when it arrived. Isabella bid her brother a good night and tested the hot milk before Pernilla could take a sip. Sitting up slightly, Pernilla drank a fair portion of the cup’s contents before sputtering slightly. The milk was rich with cream, and she suspected it was fresh from the family’s cows.

“Taste alright?” Isabella asked, holding the cup for her friend.

“Aye,” Pernilla replied wiping her lip on her sleeve. Their eyes met for a moment before Isabella look down, anxious. Pernilla simply stared at Isabella silently for a moment before pulling her forward and kissing her deeply. Isabella’s heart raced, fearful her family might walk in on them but Pernilla broke off the kiss quickly. She was aware of Isabella’s concerns and respected the young woman’s wishes.

Curling back up in the cleric’s lap, Pernilla rested and tried to fall asleep, leaving Isabella with the taste of milk on her lips.

**◄●►**

The next day Isabella woke up to the late morning sun streaming through her second-floor window. Rolling over groggily she reached for her companion only to find the rest of the small bed empty. Isabella’s eyes flew open in a panic. Had Pernilla left in the night?

Still in her nightgown, the young woman raced down the stairs and past her mother who was busy in the kitchen as usual. Seeing her daughter, Riva smiled.

“I was going to wake ye, but ye looked so peace… Izzie, what’s wrong?” Riva saw the look of horror on her daughter’s face.

“M-mama? Where is she?” Riva was not sure what the problem was and stared at Isabella for what felt like an eternity. “Did you see Pernilla?!” Isabella nearly screamed, startling her mother.

“She’s outside, lass.” Riva was concerned. “With your brother. Izzie, what’s-.” The portly woman did not have a chance to finish her question as Isabella dashed out the door.

Isabella crossed the threshold and squinted as the bright sun assaulted her eyes. Off in the distance by the family barn, the young cleric saw her father ferrying hay, but no sign of her wayward companion. Despite her mother’s assurance, Isabella was still in a panic until she heard the sounds of clashing swords on the other side of the house.

Treading cautiously, Isabella rounded the corner of her parent’s home to see Pernilla and Sean engaged in a mock duel. The Reaver was using her spare weapon, an old gladius, against Sean’s new short sword. Seeing Isabella, Pernilla smiled and winked at her secret lover.

Isabella could scarcely believe the drastic change in Pernilla’s mood and simply watched the two combatants for several moments. Eventually Pernilla insisted on rest despite Sean’s eagerness. Strolling casually over to her lover, Pernilla whispered something in Isabella’s ear. The young woman flushed and clutched her gown tightly closed before racing back into the house. Pernilla chuckled softly and returned to Sean’s lesson.

**◄●** **⌛●►**

“That was the first – and last – time Pernilla allowed me to see that side of her,” Isabella told Abaigeal. The older woman had managed to keep her tears at bay for the most part but her eyes were still wet with emotion. Abaigeal could only hold Isabella’s hand and listen, not wanting to miss any part of the woman’s tale.

“Did…did she love you?” the young woman asked. Isabella wiped her eyes and shook her head.

“She never did acknowledge that night but our relationship did change.” Abaigeal listened, captivated by Isabella’s story. “Before the events of that night I was essentially her emotional slave. A slave she protected and cared for deeply but a slave none-the-less. But afterwards…” Isabella trailed off. “Afterwards there were some nights where we were equals. She may never have submitted to me like she did that night at my family’s home but emotionally we could be equals.” Isabella sniffed and clutched herself with her free arm.

“You know,” Isabella continued, chuckling slightly through the sad memories, “I still enjoyed the way she made me feel. No matter what she did to me, she never let anything hurt me. She always saw to my safety, even from herself. This made me feel worse because I never did find out why she was in so much pain.”

“Why?” Abaigeal asked, knowing that her next question had to be posed, despite the obvious pain it would cause. “What happened to her?” Squeezing Abaigeal’s hand, Isabella wiped another tear from her cheek and steadied herself emotionally for the retelling of the rest of her story. 

**◄●** **⌛●►**


	13. Ecstasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published January 29th, 2021

Isabella smiled as she soaked in the hot water. After many days sleeping out in the bitter cold of early-winter like a common troll, a comfy room and a hot bath made her feel human again. The young cleric sank further into the tub until the hot, fragrant water reached her chin. She leaned back and soaked her hair.

_I’ll be happy if I never see another snowdrift again!_ she mused silently. The winter had been mild but Isabella was not fond of traipsing through Snowdonia and its frozen terrain. The lands north of the Black Mountains were bad enough without the fear of ambush by the forces of Midgard or Hibernia.

“Hibernia is too weak to attack and the Norse haven’t been seen here in several moons,” Pernilla had insisted. Isabella was not convinced. She was on edge for the first few days but despite her unease at traveling through the frontiers, it became clear that the two of them were safe as long as they stayed off the trails and out of sight. After nearly a fortnight, she and Pernilla had acquired vital information for the Defenders’ Guild.

When the pair had returned from their mission and entered the inn on the outskirts of Cotswold village, Pernilla ordered a hot bath. Isabella’s heart fluttered. Isabella did not think about the hygienic ritual much but whenever her companion requested a tub of hot water with their room, it always meant she had something special in mind for the night.

Isabella ran a rough cloth over her skin and smiled in anticipation. Memories of the last time the two women had a quiet evening alone came flooding back to the cleric. Isabella squirmed. Moisture from between her legs mixed with the hot water. She smiled and wondered when Pernilla would return.

Humming, Isabella leaned back and dipped her head further into the water until it covered her ears. The young woman relaxed in this position for many moments; the water over her ears blocked out all noise save for the sound of her breathing. It was quite relaxing. Isabella could block out the whole world this way. In fact, it was not until she felt a hand trace its way down her chest that she realized she was not alone.

“Ack!” Isabella yelped as she shot up out of the water. Pernilla’s grinning face greeted her. “Oh thank God it’s you.” Isabella sighed. Pernilla leaned down for a kiss.

“Glad to see me?” the Reaver joked. Isabella responded simply by sticking out her tongue. Pernilla tossed her pack onto the floor next to the bed and began disrobing.

“Were you able to retrieve what you needed from the vault?” Isabella asked, looking at the pack curiously.

“Aye.”

“What did you get?”

“Later,” Pernilla replied. Isabella shrugged and sank back up to her neck in the water.

“I was thinking,” Isabella began. “I would be nice to take a journey...you know, for pleasure?”

“Aye?” Pernilla replied absently as she continued to remove her armor.

“In a few weeks, maybe, sometime in Afterjöl? I would like to visit the Lethantis Association.” Isabella ran her fingers along the edge of the tub nervously.

“That wizard place? Why?”

“It’s supposed to be beautiful, Nel! Especially in winter!”

“I don’t like magic. I like magic-users even less. I have no desire to visit their academy.”

Isabella laughed, truly amused. “That’s funny coming from a woman who uses magic almost every day. And don’t forget all the times my spells have protected you.”

“Our magic is a gift from the gods, Izzie. Wizard magic?” Pernilla scoffed. “Conjured out of ‘God-knows-where’ by idiots. Some of them _literally_ playing with fire.” Pernilla shuddered at the thought. “I fear the day one of them decides to hurl a bloody great ball of fire at us…accidentally or otherwise” 

Isabella craned her neck back to look at her companion and beamed. “Will you at least think about it?” Pernilla had finished removing her sticky clothes and leaned over the tub. 

“If it makes you happy. Now make room, little one.” Isabella barely had time to move before the tall Briton woman climbed into the tub behind her causing the water level to reach the very top. The two were barely situated when Pernilla wrapped her arms around her lover and tilted Isabella’s head back for a deep kiss.

Isabella was startled by her lover’s aggressiveness but soon relaxed into a state of steady arousal as she returned the passionate kiss with her own vigor. When she had nearly run out of breath, Isabella broke the kiss and smiled up at her companion.

“Now who’s happy to see whom?” Isabella smirked. Her insolence garnered a light poke in the ribs that tickled more than it hurt.

“You washed?” Pernilla asked. Isabella nodded.

“All but my hair,” the young Briton answered. Pernilla pursed her lips and began fumbling with a bag hanging off the outside of the tub. Pulling out a small clay jar, Pernilla uncorked it and poured some of the thick contents onto the palm of her hand. Isabella watched curiously and sniffed at the strange oil.

“What’s that?” Isabella asked. Pernilla just smiled and twisted Isabella’s head until she was facing forward again. Isabella was worried when all of the sudden her companion smeared the thick oil all over her wet hair. The young cleric yelped at first but soon forgot her fear when Pernilla began gently working the oil into a lather. A throaty moan that almost sounded like a kitten’s purr escaped Isabella’s lips. It was then that she noticed the smell.

“What _is_ that?!”

“Essence of mankay fruit,” Pernilla replied as she gave her lover a deep scalp massage.

“I’ve never heard of it. It smells heavenly!” Isabella groaned in pleasure as her hair was thoroughly cleaned. Pernilla grinned. She truly enjoyed making Isabella feel good but it was not entirely altruistic. When Isabella was relaxed enough, she would let Pernilla do almost anything to her.

“Lean back,” Pernilla ordered and Isabella complied. With most of the suds rinsed into the bathwater, Pernilla grabbed the last pitcher of hot water that was sitting beside the tub and carefully rinsed away the remaining bubbles from her companion’s hair. 

Isabella sighed. She had not felt this pampered in a long time. She wanted to return the favor but when she tried to turn around to wash her companion, Pernilla was already climbing out of the bath. Isabella pouted and watched her friend leave.

Pernilla was not interested in a thorough cleaning for herself; the bath oils mixed with the hot water would be more than sufficient. She turned away from Isabella and the tub. The normally confident woman held her breath and stared off into the distance for a moment. Isabella missed the slight quiver in Pernilla’s breathing. Pernilla ran her fingers across her mons and through the curls between her legs. Her arousal was obvious, as it had been for the last hour. Pernilla composed herself and turned around to face her companion again.

Still dripping from the bath, Pernilla held out her hand and helped Isabella out of the tub. Isabella stepped out awkwardly. The tall sides of the bath made it difficult for her to exit gracefully. Donning a large towel over her shoulders, Pernilla pulled her young lover close and wrapped the towel around them both. Isabella looked up at her companion, grinning like a devious nymph. Pernilla – nearly lost in Isabella’s green eyes – returned the smile with a smirk. 

Pernilla dried Isabella off from her waist, slowly working her way up. She paused when she reached Isabella’s neck. Wrapped in the soft brown fabric of the towel, only the cleric’s head was visible before Pernilla. Droplets of water covered Isabella’s face, joining the light brown freckles across her cheeks and nose. Isabella’s hair was still wet; the normally light brown locks looked almost completely black in the dim firelight of their room. Pernilla paused and hesitantly ran her palm over Isabella’s slicked-back hair, biting her lip nervously. 

She could not get over how innocent her companion could look. 

“Please let me dye your hair.”

Isabella’s heart leapt into her throat.

“N-no!” The young woman gulped. “I told you, I can’t!”

“Your order forbids it.”

“Um, yes,” Isabella stammered. It was as good an excuse as any. Truth be told, Isabella was simply afraid. She slipped a hand behind the towel and pulled her wet locks forward, holding them securely. Her hair had grown in the many moons since she last cut it…since before she had met Pernilla. Even pulled in front, Isabella’s hair nearly reached her waist.

Pernilla ran her hand over Isabella’s hair, watching the dark wet strands curl around her fingers.

“God, you would be perfect as a blonde,” Pernilla whispered.

“Am I not perfect now?” Isabella pouted.

Pernilla ignored the question and instead ran her fingers through Isabella’s hair again, mesmerized. “Someday perhaps,” she mused.

Pernilla decided that they were dry enough and the warm fire would finish the job the towel had started. She gave Isabella’s ears one last ruffle with the towel before dropping it to the floor and taking her by the hand. 

Isabella allowed herself to be guided across the room and watched with anticipation as Pernilla climbed gracefully onto their small bed. The tall woman sat up against the head of the bed and stretched out her long legs. Isabella flushed with excitement. She could not tell if it was the heat of the hearth next to their bed, or her own arousal. Watching Pernilla was like watching a cat stalk its prey. Comfortably situated, Pernilla smiled at Isabella and patted the space on the bed between her legs.

The young cleric smiled and crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees. Isabella thought she knew what Pernilla wanted but before she could kiss her way up her lover’s thighs, Pernilla pulled Isabella up to her chest.

Isabella squealed playfully and Pernilla turned the young cleric around, placing her in her lap. Her head nestled firmly between Pernilla’s breasts, Isabella sighed and felt her lovers arms wrap around her. Pernilla nuzzled the back of her head. The hearth warmed their bare skin. Isabella felt safe and closed her eyes.

With Isabella settled, Pernilla began caressing the young woman’s skin. Pernilla traced her fingers down Isabella’s arms, over her belly, and across her thighs. Eventually, her touch became firm. Isabella’s muscles – knotted and sore during their long journey from the North– relaxed, their aches relieved by Pernilla’s strong hands. 

However, throughout the deep massage Pernilla carefully avoided the delicate flesh between her lover’s legs where another ache was burning. Isabella’s breathing became ragged and she grew impatient. Tilting her head back, Isabella sought out her lover’s lips and Pernilla kissed her deeply in response. Isabella moaned when she felt Pernilla’s tongue tickle her lips. Their tongues gently dueled in a passionate dance. 

With Isabella preoccupied, Pernilla cupped the young cleric’s breasts with both hands. Isabella moaned into her lover’s mouth, a moan that grew when she felt Pernilla’s fingers gently squeeze her nipples. Isabella smiled but refused to relinquish the kiss.

Pernilla continued her assault on Isabella’s nipples. Soon the gentle tweaks grew firm. Isabella gasped and released the kiss when Pernilla pulled a little too hard. Regardless, the fingers on her breasts sent shocks down her tummy to the gushing valley between her thighs. 

Isabella was in exquisite agony. The light pink nubs capping her breasts had turned a deep red and her skin began to flush a bright crimson. Isabella had never experienced anything so intense. Never before had she thought it possible to bring her to the apex of pleasure with the mere touch of her breasts. Of course brining her to the apex was not the same as letting her reach it. Isabella moaned in frustrations.

“Please…” she whispered.

But Pernilla did not stop. 

Isabella could not take it anymore and tried to thrust her hands between her legs to bring herself over the top. However Pernilla quickly wrapped her arms under Isabella’s, preventing the cleric from touching herself. With barely a heartbeat’s pause, Pernilla continued the assault on her young lover’s nipples.

Pernilla settled into a rhythm, alternately twisting, pulling, and plucking Isabella’s nipples – careful not to cause too much pain. Isabella did not care. The torture of having her climax placed just out of reach was worse than any physical pain Pernilla had ever inflicted. She could feel the sheets beneath her become soaked in the juices gushing from her neglected quim. Isabella gripped her knees, digging her nails into her flesh. Her breath came in short gasps.

But Pernilla was a master at her craft and knew Isabella’s exact triggers. When she felt the moment had come, Pernilla crisscrossed her arms across Isabella’s chest and held her tight. With one last pinch, Pernilla buried her face in the young woman’s neck and pressed her palms into her lover’s breasts.

Isabella exploded with a shriek.

Waves of pleasure crashed through the young cleric. Her cries of ecstasy were animalistic. Her body quivered and tears streamed down her cheeks.

Pernilla held Isabella tight, her face still buried in her neck. When the young woman finally calmed down, Pernilla relaxed her grip and gently stroked Isabella’s skin. Isabella’s breathing slowly returned to normal and she gasped for air. Pernilla stroked and cooed her young lover. Isabella tried sit up but was too exhausted and fell back into Pernilla’s lap.

Pernilla cradled Isabella for a while, the two of them lying still together. The only sound heard next to the crackle of the fire was Isabella’s rhythmic breathing. Pernilla gently roused her young lover from her rest. Tracing a finger over Isabella’s forehead, Pernilla collected a few beads of sweat. Isabella opened her eyes and looked up to see Pernilla’s face lit by the orange flame of their hearth. Pernilla licked the salty mixture from her finger and stared across the room.

“Nnnng…” Isabella tried to speak.

Pernilla looked down and smiled before leaning down for another upside down kiss. Despite her fatigue, Isabella met the kiss with aggressive enthusiasm – snaking her tongue deep into Pernilla’s mouth. Their tongues caressed each other slowly and languorously for a few moments until Pernilla broke the kiss abruptly and hopped off the bed. Isabella moaned in despair grabbing one of the bed pillows and hugging it tightly to her body. The young woman took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she tried to come down from her blissful torment. Opening her eyes, she looked for her wayward lover.

In the dim light of the dying fire, Isabella could see Pernilla fumbling with something she had retrieved from her bag. Her back was turned so Isabella had no idea what it was until her lover turned around and approached the bed. 

What Isabella saw gave her a start. She hid behind her large pillow, clutching it even tighter to her naked body.

“Wha-wha-what is that?” Isabella gasped. 

Pernilla had slipped a harness around her waist and protruding from the harness was what Isabella could only assume was an artificial phallus. She hoped to God that it was not real and her lover had not called upon some dark magic to sprout a man’s appendage. The dark-brown phallus bounced slightly as Pernilla walked. She placed one knee next to Isabella on the bed and waited, proudly displaying herself for her young lover. The fake cock served to make the already intimidating Pernilla look even more menacing.

“N-Nel, I don’t…” Isabella tried to speak, but Pernilla was not accepting resistance tonight.

“Hush, little one,” she said with a gentle hand over Isabella’s lips. Pernilla slowly pulled the pillow away from Isabella, exposing the young woman’s nude body. “Don’t be afraid. Here,” she said, grabbing Isabella’s hand. “Touch it.”

Isabella tentatively wrapped her fingers around the peculiar device. It was rigid, but retained a small level of softness and pliability like a real cock. It had been so long since Isabella had dealt with one that she had almost forgotten what it was like. The young cleric continued her explorations and discovered that the phallus was made of hardened leather. The craftsmanship was incredibly detailed. Nearly every contour of the male organ was reproduced perfectly, right down to the flared head.

However Isabella noticed that, unlike a man’s penis, the device Pernilla wore was longer and extended back. Lifting it up slightly, Isabella saw the other half of the phallus nestled inside Pernilla’s sex, ensuring that she enjoyed the experience as much as her partner. Isabella looked up at her lover in awe. Pernilla smiled back – a devilish look on her face – trying to maintain her composure as Isabella inadvertently manipulated the phallus against her clitoris.

Pernilla bent down to kiss her pet on the lips, forcing Isabella to release the cock from her grasp.

“Turn over, little one.” Isabella obeyed the Reaver’s command, turning over onto her hands and knees. 

Pernilla sucked in her breath. In the orange glow of the fire, the old scars down Isabella’s back were plainly visible. Pernilla hesitantly touched one of the marks her own nails had left so many moons ago. She traced the scar down Isabella’s back to where it met with the last remnants of the healed burns she had suffered in the disastrous excursion to Darkness Falls…where she had lost her friends.

Pernilla sighed.

Hurting Isabella was always a double-edge sword. Pernilla delighted in the reaction from her lover and knew Isabella derived tremendous pleasure from it as well. However, Pernilla could not help but worry that she may go too far someday. Isabella had allowed a great deal their relationship and now Pernilla was threatening to push those limits again.

Isabella trembled. A mixture of excitement and fear coursed through her body as she waited on her hands and knees. The gentle hand on her back calmed her but only a little. Isabella opened her eyes and tried to breath. Pernilla was not moving. _What was she doing?_ Isabella thought. She was about to look back when she felt the bed shift. 

Pernilla climbed onto the bed and kneeled behind Isabella. She stared in awe at her young lover’s shapely bottom and slowly approached. Isabella flinched as the leather phallus grazed the valley between her cheeks. Pernilla watched her reaction with trepidation but could hold back her desires no longer; the sight of the dark cock about to pierce Isabella’s delicious buttocks was more than she could bear. With a gentle but firm hand on Isabella’s hip, Pernilla drew the phallus through the valley until it grazed the cleric’s pussy. 

Isabella held her breath. Pernilla held the base of the cock with her free hand and worked the head between the lips of Isabella’s pussy. Isabella mewled and allowed her lover to enter her. However the tormented young cleric was disappointed when Pernilla stopped before the phallus was even halfway inside her.

Pernilla paused and massaged Isabella’s back with one hand, keeping the other on the cleric’s hip. She pulled the cock out of her lover’s pussy until just the head was left cradled between Isabella’s sopping-wet lips. Then ever so slowly, she slid the thick phallus back until her thighs were firmly against Isabella’s buttocks. Isabella groaned, feeling the head of the cock pressed up against the entrance to her womb. 

Dropping to her shoulders and hugging a pillow tightly, Isabella’s arse was left sticking up. The effect was magical. In her new position, muscles that Isabella had long forgotten were put to use as Pernilla found parts of the cleric untouched for years.

Pernilla continued her slow, deliberate strokes in and out of her young lover’s drooling pussy. Isabella emitted tiny grunts with every stroke. Pernilla grinned. Isabella was lost in the moment, her face stuffed into the pillow. Every so often, Pernilla would give Isabella’s thigh a firm squeeze to remind her that she was still there…and in control.

Isabella could never forget who it was who giving her such pleasure. She took a deep breath, repositioned her pillow, and settled in for what she hoped was the fucking of a lifetime. Isabella prayed Pernilla would hasten her efforts but the Reaver continued her leisurely pace. Isabella bit her lip in mild frustration.

Reaching one hand between her legs, Isabella tried to speed herself along. Pernilla was quick to swat the mischievous hand away. Isabella sighed in frustration but Pernilla acquiesced with a gentle massage of the cleric’s mons. Pernilla’s fingers were most welcome but the pressure was light, just enough to stoke the flames. Isabella nibbled on the finger she had managed to dip into her gushing quim.

_Eirik would never had been such a tease_, Isabella thought. Isabella remembered their nights alone, five summers ago. The things they did. They tried everything…well, almost everything. This had been her second favorite position. Eirik was unsure at first but Isabella quickly discovered that all he needed was a little encouragement.

Isabella buried her face back into the pillow and began meeting Pernilla’s strokes with thrusts of her own. Pernilla licked her lips with delight and allowed her pet this small taste of power as she kept up the light touch on Isabella’s sex. Soon Isabella’s back was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Pernilla slowed her strokes and removed her hand from Isabella’s sex with one last swipe across her clit. When the phallus was pulled from her quim, Isabella screamed into the pillow.

“Goddam it!” the cleric swore, earning a sharp swat on her left arse cheek. Isabella yelped. She knew she deserved it – for more than one reason. She was getting careless. This disciple of Arawn was teaching her some naughty habits but Isabella almost did not mind – being naughty was fun, she thought, grinning.

“Hush, little one,” Pernilla whispered. “We’re far from done.”

Isabella took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. She wanted to throttle Pernilla but she dared not move. It was best to accept her torment, she knew. Pernilla always followed through, although the wait was always agony.

The young cleric closed her eyes and remained with her head on the pillow – her arse still in the air – wondering what her lover had in store for her next. She did not have long to wait.

When Isabella had calmed down and her breathing had settled into a more moderate rhythm, she felt something firm and wet descend upon her backside. Isabella gasped when she realized it was Pernilla’s tongue gently probing her tight rosebud. She clenched her eyes shut and tightened herself against the invading appendage but her lover was not to be denied.

Pernilla swirled her tongue over Isabella’s backside with the skillfulness attained through years of lovers. Isabella’s initial revulsion soon faded. Never had she been touched so intimately, and certainly not with such skill. When Pernilla’s deft fingers joined in and began rubbing her clitoris, Isabella moaned with delight into her pillow.

Pernilla continued her persistent, twin assault on Isabella’s rosebud and clit. It was not long before the young cleric was emitting soft squeals and grinding her rump against Pernilla’s tongue. The change in her young lover’s response did not go unnoticed. Pernilla continued lapping and probing, her tongue working magic on her Isabella’s rosebud. When Isabella’s whines became incoherent, Pernilla knew the moment was upon her.

Getting up, Pernilla wiped her face on her arm, a wicked smile on her lips. With her fingers thoroughly soaked, she gathered the copious juices dripping from Isabella’s quim and slid her fingers up to the puckered, brown rosebud above the young cleric’s sex. When she reached Isabella’s virgin hole, Pernilla used her fingers to gingerly spread the slick juices over the entrance. 

Isabella turned her head and rested her cheek on the pillow. Her steady breathing was punctuated with the occasional gasp. Part of her was oblivious to what was happening; the other part was refusing to believe it. Pernilla’s tender caress stoked the fires of Isabella’s desire. Soon the reality of what was happening crept along her forehead, her brow knitting in consternation. 

Isabella watched Pernilla out of the corner of her eye. Her older lover was drooling with delight and her focus was squarely on Isabella’s bum. The young cleric knew that the last remnants of her innocence were going to be swept away whether she wanted it or not. But the delicate fingers deftly probing at her arse were beginning to convince Isabella that she wanted it more than ever.

Isabella slowly pushed herself up upon her hands and knees. Pernilla paused her ministrations – worried that she had gone too far. However when Isabella wriggled her hips – nudging her arse against the phallus strapped to her waist – Pernilla could barely contain her joy.

Emboldened, Pernilla looked down at her lover’s shapely behind and hoped she was ready for what was to come. Both the phallus and Isabella’s ass glistened with the slick juices from her wet quim. Placing the tip of the phallus firmly against Isabella’s tight rosebud, Pernilla held her breath and began to press through the tight ring of muscles. 

Isabella flinched.

“Breath, Angel.” Pernilla’s voice was soothing. It was the first words spoken in many minutes and the sound of her lover’s voice felt like satin on Isabella’s ears. Pernilla caressed Isabella’s back, whispering sweet words of encouragement. Isabella took a deep breath and let it out slowly – the tension draining from her small frame.

Reassured, Pernilla continued to push. Isabella gasped, trying to remain as calm as the phallus slowly broke through her last barrier. She could feel every bump and contour of the artificial cock as it eased deeper, stoking the flames of desire deep inside. Isabella closed her eyes and concentrated on the raw lust bubbling to the surface.

Pernilla, too, felt her passions rising. She watched the thick phallus slowly pierce her lover’s buttocks with excitement – a small string of drool escaping her lips. The forbidden nature of the act itself was enough but watching Isabella’s arse swallow the phallus inch by inch pushed Pernilla to new heights.

Pernilla continued gently nudging forward until the entire length of the phallus was fully embedded and her hips were nestled firmly against Isabella’s rear. Pernilla released a pent up breath and paused, allowing her companion to get used to something so big inside her. She took the opportunity to slip her hand between Isabella’s thighs and softly stroke her clitoris. For Isabella, the effect was magical.

“Oh God.” The cleric’s voice was no more than a whisper but was ragged and hoarse betraying her lust. Pernilla kept her caresses light and leaned down until her breasts were pressed into Isabella’s back.

“How do you feel?” Pernilla asked, nuzzling the cleric’s neck. Isabella reached up behind her and touched Pernilla’s cheek.

“I’m fine,” she said, craning her neck around for a light kiss. “Don’t stop.” 

This was all Pernilla needed to hear. Leaning back up, the Reaver grasped Isabella firmly by her hips and slid her almost completely off the phallus before pulling her back down again.

Isabella was fucked repeatedly onto the artificial cock. With each deep thrust, the young cleric grunted as the phallus pushed at her insides, stretching her more and more. Each time the phallus was withdrawn, Isabella whimpered – begging for more. Pernilla continued the slow, firm thrusts, for many moments – pushing them both slowly towards the edge.

When Pernilla sensed her lover’s growing excitement she changed tactics and reached around the young woman’s hip. With her thumb firmly on Isabella’s clit, she slid two fingers deep into the young woman’s sex. The double penetration and extra stimulation was like fire and ice. Isabella’s arse burned with the slow, deep strokes of the phallus but the intense pleasure on her sopping quim combined to drive her to new heights of ecstasy. Adding to the sensations were Pernilla’s teeth gently grazing her shoulders.

Pernilla herself was feeling intense pleasure. With every stroke into her lover tight arse, the phallus grazed her throbbing clit as it wriggled in and out of her sex. Pernilla was on the brink of her own climax but she did her best to stave it off until she could join her lover. It was all she could do to keep from clawing Isabella to shreds.

With Pernilla’s expert stimulation, it was not long before Isabella’s breathing came in short gasps, signaling her impending climax. Pernilla could hold off no longer sank her teeth into the soft flesh of Isabella’s shoulder. The animal bite sent Isabella over the edge. Her vision blurred and her ears pounded as she screamed. The two women cried out, filling the room with the sounds of their intense dual climax. 

Pernilla hugged Isabella tightly and soon all that was heard was the soft panting and moans of both women coming down from ecstasy. 

The only thing Isabella remembered was the empty feeling as the phallus slid from her arse and she flopped forward onto the bed – the sound of her blood rushing through her ears. Isabella lost track of time but as she slowly regained consciousness, she felt Pernilla cradle her in her arms. 

Pernilla squeezed her lover tightly and planted kisses across her forehead and cheek. When she received no response from Isabella – save for the young cleric’s shallow breathing – Pernilla grew concerned. 

“Angel?” 

_That word._ Isabella thought. _Why does she call me that?_

Pernilla’s voice drew Isabella from her stupor. Her body tingled and she clasped her arms over Pernilla’s and squeezed. 

“How do you feel?” 

Isabella searched for an answer but in the end, her foggy mind could come up with only one word.

“Sore.” 

Pernilla knit her brow in concern but Isabella – her eyes still closed – sensed her feelings.

“But safe… and loved,” she added with a whisper, not caring if her declaration frightened the stoic Pernilla.

“'Twas fun, aye?” Pernilla grinned. Pernilla carefully slipped her hand down and tested the cleric’s rosebud. Isabella sucked in her breath. “Heal yourself, Angel.”

“Not yet.” Isabella could hardly believe her own words. “It’s alright.”

“Do it.” Pernilla commanded this time and Isabella’s hand joined her lover’s as their fingers intertwined over her assaulted orifice. Isabella’s glowing fingers imparted the clerical healing magic and the pain subsided considerably. Isabella used only a minor spell leaving just enough pain to remind her of their coupling. Nearly two hours had passed since their night had begun and the two women cuddled silently as they recovered.

“What was that?” Isabella asked, breaking the long silence. Pernilla grinned.

“You liked that?” 

Isabella nodded.

“I had it specially made a long time ago based on something I read.” 

Isabella rolled over onto her back and furrowed her brow. “I know I dare not ask who made it for you, so I’ll ask this: where did you find such a description?” Pernilla grinned at her lover mischievously.

“An ancient text called _The Wraith Spider_. It describes an artifact but unlike ours, this one was enchanted.”

“Enchanted?”

“Aye, the artifact imbues the wearer with the sensations of wielding a _real_ cock. The magical phallus does in fact possibly become real, _spewing its_ _own seed_.” Isabella’s eyes grew wide with dismay, garnering a chuckle from Pernilla.

“Who would make such a bloody thing!? And why?” 

Pernilla shook her head. “I don’t know; all I have are fragments of the story. I’m missing most of the tale. All I know is that a dark-skinned elf woman and her light-skinned maiden brethren found one ages ago. This ‘artifact’ was accidentally destroyed but they mention others.” Pernilla hugged Isabella tightly for a second before releasing her with a mighty sigh. 

“And I really don’t care who made them; I just want one.” Pernilla winked at Isabella. “Rest assured, Izzie, if we ever got our hands on one you’d be spending more time on your back than the most popular whore in all of Albion.” Isabella blushed but her stomach fluttered at the thought. 

“What would happen to _me_?” Isabella wondered aloud, her voice just a whisper.

“What?”

Isabella shook her head. “Um, wh-where would you find these ‘artifacts’?” she stammered. Pernilla frowned.

“I don’t know that either. But I intend to find out before the next winter.” Pernilla kissed her lover on the nose and hopped off the bed. “We just need to find more fragments of the story.” 

Isabella was not sure what to say but fatigue was beginning to take its toll and her body felt heavy. The exhausted cleric could no longer stifle her yawns as she tried to crawl under the covers. The thick, woolen blankets were too heavy for the petite woman and Pernilla crawled beneath to help.

Snuggling up under the blankets, Pernilla cradled her young lover protectively in her arms. The act could easily have been mistaken as one of possession and dominance but over the months Pernilla’s behavior had taken a much gentler turn. Pernilla reflected on the months since she had met Isabella and recognized the change in her own feelings. She had become quite attached to the cleric but she would never admit it. Not that she felt she had to; she knew full well that Isabella was wise enough to recognize their relationship for what it was.

That was good enough for Pernilla.

Words were for poets, historians and the clergy. Pernilla was more concerned with feelings, both physical and emotional. It was the latter than gave her so much trouble. It was hard for her to admit to herself how she felt. But it did not concern her lately. All that mattered to her was that Isabella was happy…which made Pernilla happy.

Within minutes, the pair drifted off to sleep, first Isabella then Pernilla shortly afterwards. The last thoughts crossing the Reaver’s mind were how to top the night’s activities.


	14. Anguish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published March 1st, 2021

The next morning brought a crisp, cool breeze as the sun rose above the hills east of Camelot. The sun brought only a small measure of warmth to the village of Cotswold. In their small room, Isabella pulled the blankets tighter over her head to stave off the cold and pressed herself into Pernilla whose arms were still wrapped tightly around the young cleric. When it became too hot under the blankets, Isabella came up for air. It was then she noticed the din.

“What’s going on?” The cleric’s voice was raspy from the cold. She wished they had more wood for the fire but their purse would not allow it. Looking up, Isabella saw Pernilla was already awake and listening to the shouts off in the distance.

“I don’t know.” 

Pernilla rolled over and stretched up to the window to peer outside. Isabella resisted the urge to smack her lover soundly on her bottom. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around Pernilla’s ankle, holding on tightly. The noise grew louder: men and women shouting, horses braying, and the clatter of armor and equipment.

Beside the inn, in the village square, Pernilla witnessed a dozen or so full battlegroups forming up and marching out of the village. Looking further up the road, they appeared to be joining even more fighters and heading towards Castle Sauvage. 

“What do you see?”

“Soldiers. A lot of them. Heading north…towards the frontier.” Pernilla climbed off the bed and began dressing. Isabella became concerned when she saw Pernilla donning her chain tunic.

“Are you sure we should join them?” Isabella saw the look on her lover’s face, the beginnings of bloodlust. Pernilla’s eagerness to dive into battle always worried the cleric. Isabella had become much more ambivalent about the war against Hibernia and Midgard and had even begun to question Camelot’s motives. However, when Pernilla looked up with a twinkle in her eye, Isabella knew the decision had been made for her.

Isabella was half-dressed and wrapping her long hair back in her favorite chignon when a knock was heard at their door. Pernilla opened it to find a high-ranking soldier staring back at them. The grizzled warrior furrowed his brow for a moment – eyeing the two women suspiciously – before addressing them.

“M’ladies. All able-bodied fighters have been ordered to assemble at Caer Sauvage.”

“For what purpose, Captain?” Isabella asked.

“I cannot say, M’lady. Only that the orders come from the council itself.” With that, the soldier left to knock on the next door. Pernilla turned to her companion and winked.

Isabella furrowed her brow in deep concern. Unable to shake off the growing sense of unease, she fingered the wooden cross around her neck nervously.

**◄●►**

Isabella stepped out of the inn and joined Pernilla who was already waiting. The cold morning turned her breath into a puff of fog before her face. Checking once more to make sure her armor was secure, Isabella grasped Pernilla’s hand in her own and the two women merged with the crowd marching north. 

“Any idea what the trouble is, yet?” Isabella asked Pernilla.

“No. No one seems to know.”

Isabella looked around at the motley crew of mercenaries, minstrels, and mages amongst the crowd. It was not unheard of for some of the elite warriors of Albion to venture into the frontiers for sport. However, they always formed well-organized groups, not thrown together haphazardly with the common soldiery.

“Not exactly much sense of urgency,” Isabella noted, her concern rising.

Pernilla shrugged.

“Excuse me, sir?” Isabella flagged down a nearby soldier bearing an important-looking coat of arms.

“Aye?”

“Do _you_ know what is happening?”

The man shook his head and walked on. Pernilla gave Isabella’s hand a squeeze.

“You worry too much, Izzie,” Pernilla said. 

Isabella could not stop the rising sense of dread. Looking behind them, she noticed several short, sinister folks wrapped in dark cloaks weaving their way through the crowd – their faces shrouded from view by hoods. Isabella furrowed her brow, trying to discern the guild or allegiance of one of the cloaked individuals. The man snapped his head up, staring malevolently at the cleric. Isabella sucked in her breath and held onto Pernilla’s hand even tighter.

An hour later Isabella and Pernilla walk through the open gates of Castle Sauvage and into the inner ward. There they found hundreds of Albion fighters waiting restlessly.

“Why are we not entering the forest?” Isabella asked. This time Pernilla furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Not sure.”

Suddenly the crowd shifted and moved as one and the two women were pushed several yards to one side of the ward. Trapped among the throng of people, the short Isabella could not see much. She let out a frustrated sigh and tapped her foot on the ground nervously. Her boot made a curious sound.

Looking down, Isabella saw the smooth, intricately-carved stone that she and the rest of the soldiers were standing on. Isabella gasped. 

_Portal stone?_

The crowd shifted again and parted, allowing a tall avalonian man in brilliant blue robes to walk through the crowd.

“Oh my God! Nel!” Isabella’s voice quivered.

“What?”

Isabella pointed to the mage known as the Master Visur.

“They’re not sending us to _our_ frontier! They’re sending us to a _foreign_ frontier!”

“Yes! Finally, a good fight!” Pernilla secured her short sword at her side, having stowed her Reaver weapons safely out of sight – for the time being. “So what’s the problem?” 

“So…we have all the relics! What possible purpose could this campaign serve?” Isabella’s voice had taken on an almost hysterical squeak. Several soldiers turned to look at the couple. Embarrassed, Pernilla smiled at the gawkers reassuringly before leaning close to Isabella and whispering in her ear.

“Izzie, calm down. It will be alright. I’m here.”

But Isabella was not listening to Pernilla. The Master Vizur had begun chanting. Isabella listened closely to the ancient spell. She did not know all of the words but one repeated name stood out.

“Hibernia,” she whispered to herself. “They’re sending us to Hibernia.”

The voices of several other mages joined the Master Vizur – which soon reached a crescendo – and the walls of Castle Sauvage dissolved. Isabella, Pernila, and the rest of the Albion warriors were swept into the void.

**◄●►**

It turned out that Isabella and Pernilla were not in the first wave – far from it. When they arrived in Emain Macha, the two women were placed together in a _contubernium_, a group of eight other fighters. They were part of a _centuria_ that marched south through the Hibernian frontier. They were not told their destination and for good reason. When they reached Druim Ligen, Isabella’s worst fears were realized. She pleaded with Pernilla to turn back but the Reaver was not interested. To both Isabella’s horror and relief, the battle for Druim Ligen had long since ended.

The storming of the Hibernian frontier keep had been a slaughter – for Hibernia. The sight of the carnage horrified Isabella. As with the Albion frontier keeps of Snowdonia Fortress and Castle Sauvage, Druim Ligen was supposed to be manned by the finest defenders of the realm. Isabella could not fathom how they had been defeated so easily – and by such a hastily-organized attack. However, once their _centuria_ reached the inside of the ruined keep, the Albion toll became apparent as well – and it was up to those like Isabella to pick up the pieces.

**◄●►**

“Our commander is wounded!” a high-ranking soldier cried out. “You there, cleric!” Isabella barely took notice of the officer until he grabbed her shoulder.

“Wh-what?”

“Sir Benitt has been severely injured.” The officer turned to Isabella’s _contubernium_ leader. “I’m taking your cleric.” The paladin lifted the visor on his helm and tried to protest but the officer shut him down immediately. “By the commander’s authority I _will_ be taking your cleric.” The officer reached for his sword but kept it sheathed when no further protest was forthcoming.

“What? No!” Isabella tried to wrestle from the officer’s grasp and turned to Pernilla in a panic. “Nel!”

“Calm down. It will be fine,” Pernilla told her.

“Then you’ll stay with me?” Isabella gulped. She knew her friend was no longer thinking rationally; Isabella witnessed the battle lust rising in Pernilla’s darting eyes.

“It’ll be alright, Izzie,” the tall Briton soothed. “While you fix up this ‘Sir Benitt,’ we’ll patrol south of the keep for stragglers, nothing more. I promise.” 

“No! You can’t…!” Isabella protested, having seen through the Reaver’s fib. Pernilla hushed her friend with a finger to the cleric’s soft lips and leaned in to kiss her lover on the forehead. 

“Finish quickly and join us, _Angel_.” Pernilla turned around and mounted a black mare alongside the rest of their now woefully shorthanded _contubernium_, leaving Isabella behind and dumbstruck. Pernilla’s words echoed in her thoughts.

_ As long as this body draws breath, nothing will ever be allowed to touch you. _

But it was not her own safety Isabella was worried about.

**◄●►**

The officer practically dragged Isabella to Sir Benitt’s tent. The cleric gasped in horror when she saw the extent of the commander’s injuries. The sturdy plate had been ripped open and a gaping wound resided where the man’s chest had been. His breathing was labored, sounding more like that of a drowning beast than a man’s.

Isabella tentatively approached and examined Benitt. She touched the mangled chest piece then looked at his face. A manicured grey beard adorned his chin. He was old. Isabella recognized the name ‘Benitt.’ He was a friend of Sister Rhigwyn, a member of Isabella’s own order. Sister Rhigwyn had spoken highly of the man; he was one of the few allies the Church had left in the Defender’s Guild. 

Now it was up to Isabella to save his life. She looked back at his chest. The injury was tremendous. It would take time. Every breath she drew while away from Pernilla felt like an eternity. _But what of duty?_ she thought. She looked back at the officer who was growing impatient.

Isabella made her decision.

“Help me pull off his damaged armor.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

With the officer’s help, Sir Benitt’s chest was clear of obstruction. Isabella hesitated for a moment before placing her hands on the wound. Sir Benitt flinched and sucked in his breath – the only indication that he was still alive. Isabella closed her eyes and began the spell.

Had he been conscious, Sir Benitt would have felt the warmth of the healing spell as his wound began to knit itself closed. Isabella repeated spell until there was nothing left of the wound but a pink scar. The officer across the table from Isabella let out a relieved sigh.

“Will he live?” he asked. 

Isabella opened her eyes again and watched Sir Benitt for signs of life. The old soldier remained motionless – his breathing had stopped. Isabella took a deep breath and prepared to cast what was possibly the most important spell she knew.

Placing her hands on Sir Benitt’s head, Isabella began. 

_Domine deduc me frater meus._   
_Cápere, cápiat tuo semper múnere gloriémur._   
_Afferte huc illum ad nos._

It was not a spell but a prayer – a prayer for the man’s soul. Isabella descended into the pitch-black void between the world of the living and that of the dead. She searched desperately for Benitt’s soul but it was taking far too long. The young cleric grew desperate.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please…” The officer watched helplessly, oblivious to the implications of what was happening.

Finally, she found him. Deep in darkest recesses of the void, Isabella found the man’s soul and offered her hand in salvation. Sir Benitt accepted.

Isabella felt the man’s chest rise as he took a breath and she heaved a tremendous sigh. The officer across the table nearly fell backwards.

“Praise God!” he exclaimed as he crossed himself clumsily. Isabella looked up, her strength returning.

“I have to go,” she stated evenly. The officer turned from his resurrected commander to Isabella.

“Go in peace, cleric.”

**◄●►**

Isabella dashed from the tent and ran through the ruined southern gates of Druim Ligen, looking around desperately. She spotted a group of seasoned fighters about to leave.

“Wait!” Isabella called out. “Take me with you! I can help.”

The leader eyed the young cleric suspiciously for a moment before gesturing to the only other woman in the group.

“Grab yourself a mount, girl,” the woman instructed, pulling up a horse.

Isabella mounted the white mare and began bestowing blessings upon her group. _Time_, she thought, _too much time!_ She almost fumbled over her words. Isabella finished the last spell of protection and the group rode off.

South of the frontier gate, Isabella heard the sounds of battle growing stronger until she saw the Hibernian capitol for the first time. 

It was not how she imagined it. Nor was it how she would have wanted her first visit to be. Tir na Nog was in flames. Isabella watched as one of the spires crumbled to the ground. However, she cared little about the city now. Isabella searched frantically for any sign of Pernilla or her original _contubernium_. She was certain that – even in all the chaos – a psychotic Reaver would not be hard to find. But her panic was growing. Pernilla was nowhere to be seen.

As she and her group advanced southward, Isabella spied a small village east of Tir na Nog. It was unsecured and there was still some minor resistance. Isabella saw a pair of celts – a man and a woman – fleeing the village together on a black horse. Isabella gasped.

It was Pernilla’s horse.

Isabella broke ranks and galloped towards the village amid the shouts of her comrades whom she ignored. There, amongst the bodies of both defenders and invaders, Isabella found the dying Pernilla.

“Nel! Oh God!” Isabella dismounted and was on her knees in seconds. The frantic cleric searched for signs of life and Pernilla opened her eyes slightly. Isabella thanked God that she was still alive but when she reached underneath Pernilla, the cleric drew back a blood-soaked hand. Enemy blades had penetrated Pernilla’s chain armor, piercing her lungs and probably severing her spine. Pernilla was in serious danger.

“Nel? Nel! Can you hear me?” Isabella began the prayer that would save her friend’s life. Pernilla opened her eyes further and looked at her companion. “Pernilla, I can’t do this without you. You have to let me.” Pernilla’s head lolled from side to side slowly. The Reaver’s lungs were filling with blood and she could not speak but her meaning was clear.

In order for Isabella’s spell to work, the recipient had to accept the gift from the Christian god. But Pernilla held tightly to her convictions. Accepting the spell would mean submitting. Isabella’s worst fears about her friend were coming true.

Pernilla submitted to no one.

Isabella watched in anguish as a trickle of blood escaped from between Pernilla’s lips and she began choking. Tears streamed down the cleric’s cheeks and she clutched her friend helplessly. In the Reaver’s eyes, Isabella saw the grey haze that normally obscured her view of Pernilla’s soul dissipate, revealing a frightened, emaciated girl lost where the ocean meets the land. The girl looked up at Isabella and whispered a name.

Then she too disappeared as Pernilla’s eyes closed forever.

“No!” Isabella screamed. 

More Albion fighters flooded the village around Isabella. Some tended to the dead, others reorganized their ranks but Isabella took no notice. Instead, the cleric held her dead lover and wailed. An arrow whistled past, the fletching grazing Isabella’s ear. She took no notice. The sounds of battle eventually faded to a mild din as the defenders retreated. 

Pernilla’s body grew heavy in Isabella’s arms and she looked up to wipe away her tears and survey her surroundings. She knew she had to work quickly. Chanting, Isabella cast a blessing of strength upon herself. She felt the muscles of her small frame imbued with the power of ten men. Isabella hefted the fully-armored Reaver over her shoulder and headed east. 

A light snow began to fall.

**◄●►**

Past the town of Mag Mell – on the other side of a large lake – Isabella entered a thick forest populated with enormous trees. In the middle of the forest, she found a peaceful clearing amongst the tall trees. No fierce beasts save for a few wild horses were to be found and Isabella deemed the area adequate for her needs. 

The air was eerily calm. The war had not reached the forest but the stillness of the trees was more pronounced, almost unnatural. It was as if the spirit of the land had fled in the face of the invasion. For a moment Isabella wondered just what her countrymen had done to this beautiful land.

At the base of one of the tallest trees, Isabella gently laid her lover upon the ground and set to work digging. As she moved the earth – using her shield as a shovel – Isabella occasionally glanced at her fallen companion. Pernilla appeared peaceful: the same way she looked when she slept. Isabella resisted the urge to check for life again; her heart told her Pernilla’s soul was no longer present. Fighting back the tears, Isabella continued to dig but now she was no longer alone.

Isabella ignored the strange voices emanating from the nearby trees. If she had looked up, she would have seen the tall, thin elfin folk watching her with curiosity. But Isabella was concentrating on the task at hand and – thankfully – the forest dwellers left her in peace.

When Pernilla’s grave was deep enough, Isabella abruptly pulled off her coif and flung it across the grove. Her grief overtook her and she began to sob. 

“Damn you! Why did you have to leave?” 

The outburst caused some birds to flee their perches high above in the trees. Isabella collapsed to her knees beside her lover’s body and cried for longer than she could remember. When the flow of her tears finally ebbed, she reached beneath Pernilla’s body picking her up and carefully placing her into the grave.

Folding the older woman’s arms over her chest and placing her weapons at her side, Isabella said a silent prayer and wrapped Pernilla’s protective cloak over her body. With Pernilla’s body covered with earth, Isabella hefted a large boulder and placed it at the head of her lover’s grave. There was little left to do but to perform the final rites.

Isabella hesitated. She did not know what say for her friend and lover. Pernilla was a pagan…and a heretic. God would not accept her. Was she allowed to perform the ceremony for Pernilla? Would the spell even work? She had to try _something_. Isabella held her arcanium hammer to her lips and closed her eyes.

“Please watch over her,” she whispered.

With a grunt, Isabella swung her hammer, smashing the side of the stone. Sparks accompanied the loud crack with each hit. Several more swings later and Isabella examined her work. It was a near-perfect cross carved into the formless stone. Its enchantments would serve to protect her lover’s body from the creatures that scavenged the land. 

Isabella stood and stared at Pernilla’s final resting place. She was numb. She felt as though the life had been drained from her and now resided in the cold ground with her lover.

“What will I do now?” she asked herself. With her task finished, Isabella’s slumped to the ground and stared off into the distance. Time became meaningless. Grey clouds shrouded the forest against the sun and the snowfall began to pierce the canopy overhead. 

Isabella held out her hand and watched a snowflake melt the instant it landed on her palm. She wanted to cry more. She did not want to leave her friend. She wanted to stay by her side forever. But a cold logic took over.

Pulling herself up and turning around, Isabella left the forest and Pernilla’s grave. Her mind centered on one task: the lives of the soldiers under her care. Her thoughts remained with Pernilla – as they always would – but that would not stop her from living the rest of her life as God intended.

Somberly, Isabella marched alone back to Mag Mell. Along the way, she passed a primitive fishing village that she had not noticed before. Short, ugly creatures resembling goblins poked their heads out of their tents and barked at the passing cleric. Isabella ignored them until one of the braver – and more stupid – beasts skulked out of his tent and tried to take a swipe at the interloper. Isabella glared at the creature and swung her shield, catching the beast by its chin. Yelping, the creature ran back to its tent where it continued barking at the cleric.

Isabella turned to the village of the hunched beasts. It was a small collection of tents and overturned boats that served as simple shelters. A score of creatures – “Curmudgeons” in the local language – inhabited the ramshackle dwellings. At first Isabella could see only the filthy, disgusting creatures barking at her. To the cleric they were animals; no more worthy to live than the unnatural beasts she had once help clear from the dungeons of Albion. Isabella’s blood pounded in her ears as her pulse quickened and her anger threatened to erupt. 

Raising her right hand Isabella’s fingertips glowed as she prepared to unleash God’s Judgment on the beasts. She knew she could wipe out the entire village. It would take all of her power but she could bludgeon any remaining survivors if need be. The beasts deserved it, she thought to herself. Just like everyone and everything else in this miserable land. Isabella took a deep breath…

…But she did not release her spell.

Hiding beneath one of the overturned boats, Isabella saw one of the beasts cowering. It was quiet but watched the cleric intently. Isabella recognized fear in the creature’s eyes. Then she noticed the infant Curmudgeon held tightly in the arms of what Isabela could only assume was its mother. 

Isabella took a deep, quivering breath and closed her eyes. Realizing just how close she had come to madness, Isabella aborted her spell and dropped her hands before turning away and continuing back down the path by the lake.

**◄●►**

In Mag Mell, the forces of Albion had set up a temporary camp to tend to the wounded. Isabella entered the camp, paying attention to nothing in particular. Despite her best efforts, the effects of recent events weighed heavily on her spirit. 

A highland woman in Abbess armor looked up from the soldier she was healing to see the newcomer.

“Isabella?” The older cleric approached Isabella and looked at her quizzically. “Isabella! It is you!” The woman’s smile evaporated. “Wh-what’s wrong?” Isabella looked up. 

“Marrian?” 

Isabella could not remember that last time she had seen her former mentor. Marrian’s face was dotted with tiny spatters of crimson. Her hands – shaking and nearly frozen – were soaked in blood. Yet despite having saved perhaps dozens of their countrymen, Marrian’s thick, red mane remained in tight, organized braids. Even among the death and destruction of war, Marrian stood before Isabella as a stalwart pillar of strength and tranquility. 

“Nothing,” Isabella sniffled. “It’s nothing. I’m fine, Marrian.” The older cleric was kind and a good friend but she would never understand Isabella’s feelings. Marrian watched Isabella walk away and disappear, swallowed up into the ranks of soldiers marching south.


	15. Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published March 7th, 2021

A cold, stiff breeze blew through the tent, whipping across Isabella’s face and blowing her hair about her eyes. She pushed her hair out of the way so she could continue – smearing her face with blood. Another gust of wind whipped through the tent. Through it all, Isabella focused on the wounded soldier on the table. 

More hair fell in front of her eyes. Her tightly-knit chignon had fallen apart long ago. Now her long hair dangled down in front of her face and brushed through the blood spilling from the man’s wound. Isabella ignored it and continued bandaging the soldier. Her power had been exhausted hours ago but that did not stop her. Even without spells, Isabella could heal any wound.

And so she did.

Isabella had worked continuously while her _centuria_ marched south across Hibernia. The sounds of battle were largely ignored. There was no end of those in need of her services, even when the marching stopped. She worked through the night – healing dozens of wounded men and women – with little more than a few moments of rest at a time. 

Now the sun had been up for almost two hours and this was the last Albion soldier who needed her. Isabella applied the paste of herbs and vinegar over the wound and wrapped it in a wide bandage. She paused and watched for seepage under the dressing. None appeared. Isabella stared at the grey bandage absently until the wind hit her face once more and broke her trance. She sighed and signaled two soldiers waiting nearby. The pair of burly men picked up the unconscious soldier and took him to the _infirmaria_ to recover. Isabella stared blankly at the empty table for many breaths before turning around and walking out of the tent.

The mid-morning sun warmed Isabella’s face and she surveyed her surroundings in the light of day for the first time. She was in a village. A Hibernian village. The area was soggy with wet snow and pockets of scorched ground dotted the landscape. The air was crisp and cool but with the smell of burnt pitch. Isabella took a deep breath and started walking.

Isabella plodded through the melting snow and mud past the line of well-organized Albion tents. She took little notice of the village itself – its structures mostly intact. The sound of waves crashing on the shore began to drown out the noise made by the Albion soldiers milling about. Isabella kept walking until the mud turned to sand and she found herself next to a large, smooth boulder that had no earthly business on the sandy shore.

Looking out over the endless western ocean, Isabella inhaled the thick, salty air. She had never seen the ocean, not even in her homeland. Far off in the distance, the deep blue waters met the light blue sky in a perfect line. The young cleric’s mind tried to cling to the simple beauty of the ocean horizon – trying to regain a foothold in the real world. Isabella climbed the boulder and sat down upon its smooth surface. For many breaths, she stared out over the ocean, unmoving.

Suddenly Isabella heaved a deep breath and sobbed quietly. 

Tears followed and Isabella’s sobs were punctuated by several long wails heard by none except the vast ocean before her. 

“Why, why, why did you take her from me?” Isabella cried, looking up at the sky. She did not expect an answer. She would have asked for forgiveness but she could not bring herself to regret her love affair with Pernilla. She wanted revenge and to hunt down the two Celts responsible for her death but Isabella knew they were only defending themselves. All Isabella could feel was guilt. 

“I knew I should not have let you go,” she whispered. Isabella wanted to scream but her strength had drained and her tears had run dry. She turned from the ocean and surveyed the village which was turning out to be – at least for the time being – her company’s final destination. 

The village itself lay on one side of a river where it met the western ocean. Across the river, surrounded by the officer’s camp, lay the portal to HyBrasil. 

But it was inactive. 

Like the portal to the Isle of Avalon in her own realm, Isabella expected the ornate gate set atop the stone platform to be glowing brightly as it pried apart the very fabric of space. Now several mages were working diligently – albeit unsuccessfully – to reactivate the gate. Isabella sighed, not caring in the least about the work going on around her. She had no interest in the campaign against Hibernia – or Midgard for that matter. This was her first real taste of war and it had already turned sour. The melancholy cleric sat on her rocky perch and idly ran her fingers over the boulder’s weathered surface. 

A commotion from her side of the river drew Isabella out of her reverie. Two plated soldiers were wrestling a young Celt girl from her home amid desperate protests from her family. The girl appeared to be a summer or two younger than Isabella and the two Albion men obviously had only one thing on their minds. The cleric looked around but none of the other soldiers took notice or seemed to care.

Isabella’s _centuria_ had been placed in charge of seeking out any defenders who may have taken refuge in the area. When that task drew no quarry, it changed to that of guard duty. The village had been cordoned off and a dozen heavily armed soldiers patrolled the area. It was tedious duty and the men were growing restless.

Isabella watched the two men drag the crying girl along the ground. An older man – possibly her father – tried to snatch her back but the sharp end of a bastard sword at his neck made him think twice. 

“Get back in yer home, old man!” one of the plated warriors spat as he waved his weapon menacingly. There was no way these people were going to make the men give up their spoils. 

Isabella watched the scene impassively…until the bile rose to her throat. She turned her head away for a breath then sat up and stormed towards the trio.

The ginger-haired armsman wielding the sword – who was obviously the leader of the twisted duo – did not even see the cleric approach. Isabella grabbed the armsman by the shoulder. When he turned to look, he received the back of a mailed glove square in the nose. 

The blasphemous curse that escaped his lips in a spray of blood only served to enrage Isabella further. Trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose, the armsman released the girl’s arm. The man’s younger companion was bewildered when he saw who their attacker was. However, with an angry look from the cleric, he realized their mistake in time. As the first soldier continued to curse, the second one released the girl’s other arm letting her drop to the cold mud. Isabella quickly snatched her up by the wrist, placing herself between the soldiers and their prey.

“Fecking cleric!” the bloodied soldier cursed at her, once he finally realized what had happened. “Give that back or I’ll…” The man’s words were trapped in his throat. Isabella’s glare could have melted the snow around them.

“Or you’ll _what?_” Her words were slow, even, and dripping with venom. 

The fiery-haired armsman dwarfed the diminutive Isabella. Her arcanium hammer was tucked securely at her side. However, the look in her eyes and the Albion Church’s emblem – the Cup of Christ – on her armor served her better than a trebuchet loaded with Greek fire. The two adversaries were locked in a mental battle as their companions could only look on in astonishment.

The girl in Isabella’s clutches, oblivious to the meanings of their words, was equally mystified by the events. But that did not alleviate her terror any less. The girl saw the soldier – whose bloodied face nearly matched the color of his hair – eying her then the cleric, trying to weigh his options. Eventually the man backed off a step and casually spat a wad of blood at the cleric’s feet.

“Later then,” he said, eying the Celt girl. Isabella knew this man lacked any fear of the Church and therefore cast a different kind of warning.

“If I catch you, I’ll ‘excommunicate’ the one part of you that you actually care about.” Isabella punctuated her threat with a quick glance to the man’s crotch. The soldier narrowed his eyes at Isabellac then turned and walked away, his companion and a few other soldiers in tow. It was then that Isabella realized that all eyes were on her.

“Weave a tapestry! It will last longer!” she yelled. With that, the rest of the soldiers went back to their posts. Isabella watched them for a moment then remembered the reason for the confrontation. Turning around she saw the Celt girl trembling in her grasp. 

The girl was indeed only about a summer younger than Isabella. Her pitch black hair was plastered with snow and mud against her otherwise flawless face. But it was the pair of piercing blue eyes that Isabella noticed. The girl’s eyes were entrancing as they pleaded to Isabella. The cleric studied her for a moment then saw her wince. Isabella suddenly realized she was squeezing the girl’s wrist. She released her grip and the confused girl staggered back a step.

“Go,” Isabella said softly. “Go home.” 

The Celt girl had no idea what the Albion woman had said but when she made no move to stop her, the girl ran back to her family. Together again and back in their home, the girl was safe for the time being. The event took its toll on Isabella. Seeing the worst of humanity play out before her eyes threatened to drive her further into despair.

However, that was nothing compared to what happened next.

Isabella left the shore and walked aimlessly along the riverbank – past the war camp and to the edge of the Albion patrols. The sounds of water and a few fauna overtook those of the soldiers behind her. Isabella’s heart was heavy. She would have continued walking aimlessly up the path until her strength left her or the denizens of the Hibernia found her but a strange object caught her eye.

On the bank – not too far from the burned out husk of the bridge that had until the night before spanned the gap between the two shores – Isabella saw a book bearing the Celtic symbol of three crossed swords. She was intrigued. Not only was the use of bound tomes uncommon among the Celt but the symbol on the front looked familiar.

Isabella checked to see if anyone was nearby before pulling the book from the muck and wiping it off. Examining the cover, she found it to have survived the water quite well. 

“Could not have been here very long,” she mused. 

Thumbing through the sturdy pages the cleric encountered exactly what she expected: Celt writing. It could have been written by an ogre using a dead cat for a quill for as much as Isabella was able to understand. However she soon encountered a name in the book that she recognized. A name repeated constantly throughout the latter half of the book right up to where the pages abruptly turned blank.

It was a journal, and Isabella had a hard time not believing she knew to whom it belonged.

“Aye, I could not believe me own eyes. He looked just like him, only he was dressed like a Celt.” 

Isabella was snatched from the book’s hypnotic embrace when she heard the passing soldiers conversing. A memory – thought long since forgotten – rose to the surface with a splash. The symbol on both the Celt girl’s armor in Darkness Falls and on the journal, and Eirik’s name could not have been a mere coincidence.

“What did you say?” Isabella demanded, grabbing the soldier’s arm after she stashed the journal in her pack. The soldier turned to the cleric. Confused, he tried to stutter a reply but Isabella had lost all patience. “Who are you talking about?!” she shouted.

“Th-there’s a man… o-over in J’nar’s tent. With J’nar’s personal healer. I swear I had served with him before but he was lying among the defenders when we…” The soldier had barely finished when Isabella sprinted down the bank to find the nearest bridge across the river.

**◄●►**

The tent housing J’nar’s personal healer was not difficult to find. Two Shadows Guild assassins flanked the entrance. Isabella marched up the hill to the tent, determined to see whatever, or whoever was inside. The men guarding the tent reached menacingly for their weapons but did not unsheathe them. 

“Now you’re not allowed to enter the…” the guard on the right began to recite until Isabella – not missing a single step – kneed him squarely in the groin. The saracen Infiltrator crumpled to the ground in agony, his companion looking on helplessly as the cleric walked right past them.

Isabella was unprepared for what she saw inside the tent. Laid out on a raised bed was a battered and bloodied man. It was Eirik. Even with the beard and the bandages covering the left side of his face, Isabella would know him anywhere. The cleric saw restraints around her old friend’s wrists and ankles and wondered if they were there for his own safety or for others’. 

An ancient Iconnu male, who was standing over Eirik, took no notice of the cleric. The emaciated creature’s hands delicately removed the bandages from Eirik’s left eye, revealing the horrific wound. However it was what the Iconnu was doing to Eirik that terrified Isabella the most. The creature wove dark incantations and the cleric watched as her friend’s eye was repaired. But the mend took on a more sinister air. Isabella knew that the heretic was imbuing unnatural abilities into her friend.

Behind Isabella, the two guards entered, one of them hunched over in pain. The Iconnu – a servant of Arawn – who was tending to Eirik looked up from his work when he heard the commotion.

“Find J’nar!” the Iconnu ordered the guards before addressing the intruder. “You must leave here at once, cleric.” But there was little the decrepit old creature could do. Looking on in horror at her friend’s wound, Isabella ignored the creature and approached.

“Eirik?” Every ounce of anger she had held towards her old friend and former lover vanished as she looked into his one good eye. The man himself was emotionless and impassive. But Isabella looked beyond into his soul and nearly fainted as her mind was dragged into the vision. 

͓̜̱̦̾ͬ̎̆ͬ◄̜̻̈́̏̌ↈ̲̪͎͍̫̹ͫͬ̋►͍̩̹̝̭̋ͨͮͮ

Isabella was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of brimstone. Her lungs burned and her eyes watered. Coughing, she looked around. Isabella stood on a vast landscape of rock and flames. Dead trees dotted the landscape, lava flows lay in every direction, and the sky above was as red as blood. Isabella trembled; no vision in her life had ever seemed so real.

“I-I-Izzie?”

Isabella spun around. Yards away, in a copse of dead trees, a little boy cowered behind the burnt husk of one of the trees. It was Eirik. The person Isabella had called friend and with whom she had shared so much love, stood there in the distance…terrified.

“Oh, God. Eirik…” Isabella whispered. She took a step and the ground shook. Behind Eirik, an enormous black cloud of smoke and brimstone descended from the sky. Isabella gasped at what she saw. Hundreds of demonic figures reached out from the smoke as it rushed towards them.

“Izzie!” the boy screamed. He was rooted to the spot, frozen with terror.

“Eirik, run!” 

Eirik bolted towards Isabella who ran to meet him. But it was no use. The black cloud reached Eirik first, the beasts’ arms grabbing him and pulling him back. Tears ran down the boy’s cheeks. He reached out for Isabella then disappeared into the massive tangle of smoke and limbs.

“No!” Isabella cried.

The black cloud – having acquired its prey – seemed to ripple with energy before it lurched towards Isabella.

̘̰̯̱͔̗̞̽̽͒ͭ̑◄͙̻͍̮̐ͮ̀̇̅̿̚ↈ͍͍͈̦̹̩ͅ►̮̖̗̞̞̌ͥ

Isabella was ejected from the vision and fell to the ground with a gasp. Struggling for breath, she pulled herself up and looked at Eirik.

“Oh, Eirik.” 

Once again, Isabella had lost someone very dear to her. The companion with whom she had journeyed for five summers may not have been dead but Isabella saw his soul wither and expire before her eyes. The young cleric clung to Eirik and wrapped her fingers around his hand. Eirik gripped her hand back and looked at Isabella one last time, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Just then a tall, shriveled Avalonian man flanked by his lieutenant and the two guards, entered the tent. Upon seeing his hollow, black eyes, Isabella recognized the infamous leader of the Shadow’s Guild and sneered instinctively.

“Remove her,” J’nar said evenly.

“I can help him.” Isabella tried her best to hide her fear. J’nar’s empty, black eyes attested to his predilection for dark magic and Isabella knew he was not one to be trifled with. The powerful Cabalist tapped his staff onto the soggy ground with an impossibly loud snap. The guards pulled out their weapons and advanced on the cleric. Isabella knew she could not hope to win the confrontation and regretfully turned to exit the tent. With the cleric gone, J’nar turned to his lieutenant.

“How did she get in here, Cresil?” J’nar asked. The saracen beside him frowned and looked at the two guards.

“How indeed?” Cresil asked the men.

“Punish your men later, Cresil. I do not want that cleric interfering.” J’nar looked back towards the entrance and saw Isabella standing several yards away, staring back. “See to it.”

**◄●** **⌛●►**

“The next day I found myself bound for Caer Hurbury. I was the lucky one. J’nar murdered everyone else who knew the truth about your father but he dared not take on the Church at that time.” Isabella wiped a tear from her eye and turned to see how Abaigeal felt about her story. 

“A-and your family?” Abaigeal watched a fresh flow of tears come steaming down the woman’s cheeks. Isabella shook her head, saying nothing. Abaigeal hugged her, her own eyes filling with tears.

“For eighteen years I sat in exile. Eighteen years in that God-forsaken place.” Isabella’s voice trembled at the memory.

“I’m sorry.” Abaigeal did not know what to say but a weak smile broke across Isabella’s face.

“It was not without its merit. I had a few allies. And eventually, once I realized that J’nar had forgotten about me, I learned to use the time as a sort of penance.” Isabella could not help but chuckle slightly at Abaigeal’s confused look. “I knew God had a purpose for me. I did not know if my destiny lay in Snowdonia or not but the day you arrived, I knew why He had put me there.”

“That is why you came to Hibernia?”

“Aye.” Isabella smiled. “I saw in you the same passion – and the same fears – I had seen in your father… and Pernilla.” 

Abaigeal’s smile waned as she contemplated Isabella’s declaration.

“Y-you think I need help? You came here to try to convert me as you tried and failed with your other lovers?!” Abaigeal stood up but Isabella held her by the wrist.

“Abaigeal, no! You’re not listening! I fell in love with you!” Isabella panicked. Abaigeal simply stood and waited to hear more of what the woman had to say. After a long pause, Isabella revealed more than she ever thought she would. “I fell in love with you long before you were born.” 

“W-What?”

“In my dream– the vision that I have witnessed almost every night since I reached womanhood – I have watched your father perish in the arms of a young woman. I did not even know it was Eirik until I had met him years later. And I never knew who the woman was. All I knew was that I was drawn to her – drawn to her beauty and spirit. I fell in love with her without ever knowing who she was. I’ve always known I had a destiny, Abaigeal, and that it was tied to this woman. I just didn’t know what that destiny was…until I met _you_. When you appeared in my chambers that night in Caer Hurbury, it all became clear to me. I knew what I had to do and where I had to be.”

Abaigeal trembled

“Aye, Abaigeal. I was brought here. By fate or by God, it no longer matters. And if I must give up my gifts to fulfill my destiny, then so be it.” Isabella’s voice betrayed a hint of sadness but her eyes were bright, if not still a little wet. Abaigeal felt miserable for putting the woman through the ordeal after having deal with so much adversity throughout her life.

“You would give up your power for me?” Abaigeal asked after a moment of silence.

“Abaigeal, I already have, simply by coming here.” 

Abaigeal was astonished by this revelation. Considering the implications, she realized that is why Isabella had been devoting so much of her time to the study of the bardic arts. Isabella was standing in front of Abaigeal still clutching her wrist and silently pleading for her to make a decision regarding their fate. Abaigeal’s eyes drifted to the flood then back to Isabella before resting upon the woman’s beautiful green eyes.

“Oh, Isabella, I’m so sorry.” Abaigeal pulled the woman into a tight embrace and kissed her briefly on the lips. 

Isabella felt a tremendous weight lift from her heart and clung to Abaigeal, leaning into the young woman for support. Not since her affair with Pernilla had she felt so safe. Isabella knew she had found the one. Abaigeal’s embrace felt so warm and comforting. Isabella reveled in her lover’s touch until Abaigeal suddenly pulled back. The former cleric opened her eyes and looked at Abaigeal quizzically. 

“What is it?” Isabella asked

Abaigeal bit her lip and thought a moment. “I remember something else my father said, b-before…” Abaigeal heaved a pained sigh at the memory. Isabella smiled warmly and brushed the hair from her lover’s face reassuringly.

“What did he say?”

“He said…home is with the one’s you love.” Abaigeal looked up to see Isabella’s eyes growing wet.

“It certainly is.” 

Isabella smiled and pulled Abaigeal to the bed and began planting small kisses across her cheek and nose. When Abaigeal’s hands made their way to her small breasts, Isabella pulled off her robe leaving herself exposed from the waist up. Abaigeal grinned and followed suit, and soon both women were naked. Isabella marveled at the young woman’s ample bosom. 

Pushing Abaigeal down onto the bed, Isabella covered Abaigeal’s body with her own. The two lovers felt the intimate contact of skin on skin and Isabella stared into Abaigeal’s eyes. Gone was the frightened child and the storm that threatened to engulf her. All Isabella could see was the happy young woman, safe and full of love. 

And something else.

Isabella furrowed her brow and Abaigeal looked at her lover with concern.

“Abaigeal?” Isabella hesitated. “I-I don’t quite know how to ask this, but…”

“What?” Abaigeal asked uncertainly.

“Who is the father of your child?


	16. Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published March 15th, 2021

Romana heaved a great sigh and shuddered as Liam thrust once more into her releasing his seed. The blonde Celt relished her and her husband’s early morning couplings. After rescuing Lady Isabella from her predicament earlier that morning, Romana had returned to her hut to find Liam still asleep. Romana stood beside their bed and watched Liam before brushing the sandy-blond hair from his face, waking him. When she began to disrobe – a curl on her lips – Liam quickly shook off the morning somnolence and soon the two of them were a tangle of limbs.

After several minutes of relentless teasing, Romana had turned over and snuggled up against her husband, allowing him to enter her from behind. With Liam’s arms wrapped around his wife – each facing the same direction as they did in life – the two had made love. With both of them now spent, Romana gently rubbed her palm over the site of their coupling and shivered. 

She loved Liam. 

_Even after all these years_, she thought. Because_ of all these years_. Romana idly played with herself and squirmed happily.

As Liam’s manhood began to soften, Romana took one last swipe of her sensitive bud with her fingers and disentangled herself from her husband. The blonde Celt sat up and stretched and sighed again. It was a happy sigh. Life was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. She looked back at her husband who was now dozing peacefully again. The Heroine shook her head and smiled. She hoped that she and Liam were not the only ones this happy. Romana’s thoughts turned to her adopted daughter Abaigeal and her “new friend.” 

The thought of Abaigeal finally finding happiness here in Hibernia – her true home – lifted Romana’s heart. Getting up and throwing on a robe, Romana opened the door to her hut to find the very women in question hesitantly approaching. Romana furrowed her brow. Abaigeal and Isabella stopped at the threshold of her hut.

“We… have some news,” Isabella said with a nervous smile.

“What?” Romana asked turning to Abaigeal who looked like she was about to cry.

**◄●►**

News of Abaigeal’s pregnancy spread quickly through the village of Connla. Although there was some concern regarding the late father’s heritage, it evaporated in light of stories of his heroism at the battle of Vindsaul Faste. However, Romana was not as quick to forgive the elf with whom she had entrusted her adopted daughter. It had taken some convincing – and apologies – from her husband Liam before Romana would forgive Rayne for what he had done. 

But most of all Romana realized the effect the pregnancy had on Abaigeal who needed Romana more now than ever. Abaigeal was almost inconsolable and cried for hours at the bittersweet memories of her lover and teacher, Rayne Golradir. With Romana’s and Isabella’s help, the young mother-to-be soon realized that her child was a blessing and her link to the man she once loved.

Then there was the subject of Abaigeal’s _new_ love. The coming child was frightening but with Isabella by her side, Abaigeal felt she could weather a dragon scourge. The village was also thrilled that their prodigal daughter had found happiness. The ladies of Connla doted on her pregnancy and Abaigeal reveled in the attention. Isabella, too, wanted nothing more than to be accepted into her lover’s family and her homeland, and everything seemed to be falling into place. 

However when the subject of a binding ceremony for Abaigeal and Isabella came up, the former cleric was hesitant. Isabella’s years in the Church of Albion made it difficult to shake off old habits and views; marriage – even if by another name – was forbidden to her…for many reasons. However the villagers were adamant; eighteen years of harsh Albion rule had done nothing to quash their uncompromising acceptance of outsiders. So when Abaigeal presented Isabella with her mother’s ring, a stunned Isabella could not say no.

However, as the day of the ceremony approached, the Briton woman’s apprehension returned. On the morning of her marriage to a woman half her age, Isabella paced the length of her hut with great trepidation. Even Romana’s comforting presence could not quell the panic that threatened to erupt. Isabella was on edge.

“This is starting to look familiar,” Romana quipped, watching her friend.

“Oh, God!” Isabella dashed out the door of her hut. When Romana found her, Isabella was leaning over beside a tree, heaving.

“Yes, very familiar.” 

Romana gathered the Briton woman’s light brown hair in her hand and held it back as Isabella’s breakfast bade a hasty exit. Isabella gulped and her breathing slowed before she made one final heave to empty her stomach and collapsed on the ground.

“I can’t do it! I just can’t do it!” Isabella cried as she leaned up against the tree. Romana sat down beside Isabella and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“Of course you can,” she replied with a squeeze. Isabella rested her head on Romana’s shoulder and tried to breathe. “Abaigeal has told me about some of your adventures, Isabella, and I wager that you have not told her half of what you have endured. This should be a doddle.” Romana lifted Isabella’s chin and offered a clean piece of cloth. The Briton woman took it and did her best to clean up.

“You make it sound so trivial.”

“Not trivial, just different,” Romana comforted. “And I’ll be there right beside you to make sure you don’t try to scamper off.” 

Isabella chuckled despite herself. “I love her so much, Romana, more than life itself.”

“I know.”

“Then why can’t I do this for her?!”

Romana patted her friend. The tall Celt woman pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “I remember when Liam and I were wed. We were exiles living in Midgard. Everything was so different, so uncertain. I was just happy to be with the man I loved. But I was so afraid that he was doing this just for Abaigeal, so she could have a proper family.”

Isabella gasped. “Oh, Romana, I’m so sorry. I feel…oh, God, I feel awful. I should not…”

“You cannot help but feel the way you do, Isabella.” Romana gave her a peck on the nose and cradled her head on her shoulder. “I was so nervous; I couldn’t eat for days leading up to the wedding. I don’t remember the ceremony at all. Probably because I tried to calm myself by drinking enough ale to floor a troll.” Isabella could not stifle the laughter that ensued. 

“Oh no, that is not the best part,” Romana continued. “When Liam first took me to his home that night, I was so worried that he was going to cast me aside; reveal that our binding was only for convenience.”

“Oh my God, Romana!”

“I’ll never forget the moment his fingers touched my bare skin for the first time. He pushed my dress from my shoulders – leaving me completely naked – and leaned in to kiss me.”

Isabella had forgotten her own nerves and waited for Romana to finish. 

“And…?”

“I threw up all over him.” Romana turned to see the horrified look on Isabella’s face. When Romana burst into laughter, Isabella followed.

“What…” Isabella snorted in a fit of laughter, “What did you do?”

“He cleaned us both up and the last thing I remember that night before I passed out was seeing his huge, naked cock!” The two women hugged each other in hysterics. “But…But I’ll never forget waking up in his arms the next morning,” the Celt woman continued after calming down. “It was nearly midday and he offered me a remedy for my head. I just laid in his arms for a while before looking up at him. It was then that he told me he loved me. He had always loved me, even before I truly got to know him – after the death of Abaigeal’s mother.”

Isabella smiled. “How long had he been admiring you from afar?”

“Since we were children. All three of us. I always knew he fawned over Keeley but I never realized until then that he had always been there for me when I needed him.”

Isabella wiped the tears from her eyes. “That’s beauti–”

“Then we shagged each other senseless ‘til neither of us could walk!” Romana punctuated the remark with a roar and Isabella was once again sent into hysterics.

“Thank you, Romana,” Isabella said when she had finally stopped laughing.

“You are most welcome.”

“Izzie?” Both women turned to see Abaigeal staring at them. The young, mixed-race woman stood a few yards away – beside Isabella’s hut – holding a collection of flowers. Her normally unruly hair had been woven into a single, large braid that revealed more of her beautiful face. Her green dress enhanced her already amble bosom while also revealing the slight bulge in her tummy. Abaigeal’s light brown eyes sparkled when she looked at Isabella. 

“Your betrothed is nervous, Abaigeal,” Romana said, breaking the silence.

“I’m sorry, Abbie. It’s all just so…different.”

Abaigeal sat down beside the Briton woman and hugged her. “I know.” Abaigeal kissed Isabella on the cheek. “Together then, aye?”

“Aye,” Isabella sighed happily.

“Come, mama,” Abaigeal said turning to Romana, “Let’s braid her hair before the ceremony starts.”

**◄●►**

In the dying light of the autumn equinox, amidst the still jovial ruckus of the binding celebration, Isabella Spellsong took the opportunity to escape and rest for a moment. Taking a solitary stroll at the edge of the village, the former cleric of Albion leaned against a tree and sighed. She touched the intricate braids that Romana and Abaigeal had woven into her hair and watched a few celebrants stagger off in the distance. She could not believe this was all for her and Abaigeal. 

Isabella looked out over the ocean. The bonfires throughout the village of Connla illuminated the beach. She thought about her new life in Hibernia. Everything was so different here. Isabella never expected her life would lead her to this beautiful land, or to Abaigeal.

Isabella sighed. “You were right, Eirik,” she said to herself. “You were there when I met my destiny.” 

_Abaigeal._

Isabella never thought she would find Abaigeal – the young woman in her dream, cradling the dying warrior – but she did. And now that Isabella had found her, she was scared. She had opened her heart and her past to Abaigeal. She had told her things about herself that she had told no one before. She had told Abaigeal _everything_. 

_Well, almost everything._

Isabella bit her lip and thought about her gift of visions. 

_ Is that a secret I must take to my grave?_ She thought. No one knew of her gift – not her friends, not even her family.

Isabella sniffled and tears formed in her eyes. Despite a heart full of joy, she still missed everyone she even knew in Albion. Her mother and father, her brother, Eirik, Pernilla, and the noble Katherine. Isabella’s thoughts continued to drift when she heard footsteps approaching.

Two women walked down the path from the village to the beach. The older woman – a Celt – was Isabella’s age. The younger woman – a fire-haired lass who could not have been older than Abaigeal – carried an infant. When they saw Isabella, they smiled and approached. Isabella immediately recognized the older woman’s haunting blue eyes.

“Hello,” the younger woman greeted. “You are Lady Isabella, no?” she said, struggling with the common tongue.

“Aye.” Isabella nodded and smiled at her.

“Dia dhuit,” the older woman greeted excitedly. 

The younger woman shifted uneasily as the infant squirmed in her arms. “This is my mother.” She indicated the dark-haired woman beside her.

Isabella cast her eyes down for a moment before looking back up. “I-I know.” The fired-haired young woman furrowed her brow. “And who is this?” Isabella beamed at the child.

“Oh, this is Saoirse,” the young woman said. Isabella reached out to tickle the baby girl’s chin, eliciting a delighted squeal.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Th-thank you.” The young woman searched for words for a moment before speaking slowly. “My mother doesn’t speak the common and she wanted me to tell you…” The young woman hesitated.

“Aye?” Isabella looked to the shorter, smiling woman beside her daughter; her blue eyes beaming.

“She wanted me to tell you ‘thank you’ and…that it’s alright; everything turned out for the best.” The young woman pushed a lock of red hair out of her face and furrowed her brow again. “I am sorry, Lady Isabella, but do you know what she means?” 

The older woman took that moment to clasp Isabella’s hand and smile – tears welling up in her blue eyes. Isabella choked back her own tears and turned to the fire-haired girl. 

“She means you and your daughter are the whole world to her.”

**◄●►**

The end of _The Morlock Chronicles Part 3:_ “Angel with the Emerald Eyes”

**◄●►**

Dedicated to The Morlocks, wherever they may be.


	17. Excerpts from “The Snowdonia Sisterhood”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is a teaser for Part 6 of The Morlock Chronicles: "The Snowdonia Sisterhood"
> 
> Published April 15th, 2021.

**◄ↈ►**

Deep in the thick forests of Domnan, the young Romana held a sleeping newborn in her arms and stood beside the sandy-haired Liam. She watched as an ancient Sylvan Druid performed the final rites for her dearly-departed friend, Keeley Elil. The Sylvan chanted sorrowfully in a low drone as he swayed back and forth. He looked more like a tree than anything else – his skin covered with brown, bark-like scales and leaves sprouting from his head.

Romana stared at the body of her friend. Keeley lay at the base of a large, moss-covered effigy – her body ringed with stones. When the Sylvan’s chanting rose to a crescendo, Romana stifled a sob. She felt empty inside. Liam wrapped his arm over her shoulder.

Beside the third member of their party – an old Celt woman – Romana and Liam watched as a transparent, shimmering shield erupted from the small stones and enveloped Keeley’s body before turning opaque. The protective shield now matched the surrounding – looking like an ancient and weathered carving of a young woman.

Romana clutched Keeley’s child to her breast and leaned onto Liam’s shoulder.

A light snow began to fall.

**◄ↈ►**

Among the tall trees of a forest east of Lough Derg, a hooded figure carefully examined the curious stone marker. The figure remained hidden under their dark green cloak, a bow slung across their back. The weapon was of peculiar design – not of Hibernia. The figure bent down and touched the fresh carving on the marker. A near-perfect Christian cross had been carved into the rock.

The figure stood up again and looked around for a moment before quickly bounding off towards the south. Leaping over a log, their hood flew back revealing long hair and elfin-like ears.

**◄ↈ►**

On a small farm on the outskirts of the village of Ludlow, Katherine-Marie Lovejoy cautiously approached the burned-out remains of a small house. Dense snow clouds obscured the setting sun, bringing an early dusk to the lands north of Camelot. The thick, wet snowflakes and still air blanketed the land with an eerie calm. The young infiltrator was thankful for the added cover. 

When Katherine crossed the threshold, she could still feel the residual heat from the fire that had destroyed the home. A sinking feeling crept over her and her stomach twisted in knots. It did not take long for Katherine to find what she was looking for. 

Amongst the rubble, huddled together in a corner, lay the charred corpses of the home’s late occupants – two adults and a child. Katherine heaved a deep sigh and pulled back her hood.

She was too late.

Katherine watched as the large snowflakes that drifted in through the hole in the roof began to accumulate on the bodies.

**◄ↈ►**

Isabella Spellsong poked her head through the small open flap of the canvas-covered wagon. The trip by caravan through the Albion frontier had been brutally cold and the wind whipped the heavy snowfall across her face. After nearly a fortnight of travel, the caravan now made its way slowly up the hill to its final destination.

In the central ward of the castle known as _Caer Hurbury_, the caravan stopped and Isabella climbed out of the wagon. She looked around. The tall castle walls provided some protection from the wind, but a heavy snow covered most of the ward. A dozen or so soldiers huddle beside a few fires for warmth, paying no attention to Isabella. It was a dismal sight.

Isabella shivered but only partly from the cold.

A tall, burly man – possibly the castle’s lord – stepped out of the castle keep and approached the newcomer. A younger man accompanied him at his side. After sizing Isabella up for a moment, the older man spoke.

“Are you the new cleric?” There was no small degree of disappointment in his voice. Isabella stood dumbfounded for a few heartbeats, not knowing what to say. She opened her mouth to speak when a calamitous noise startled her.

Isabella turned to see the castle gates seal shut behind her and the portcullis lower agonizingly slow – its chains rattling the whole way down. After many heartbeats, the portcullis finally closed, sealing the young cleric off from the rest of the world. The courtyard was quiet once again.

Isabella – her head now covered in snowflakes – turned back to the man who eyed her suspiciously, waiting for an answer.

“A-aye?” her voice cracked.

**◄ↈ►**

In the northwestern Ashen Isles – deep in the heart of the lava-blasted lands of Volcanus – Eirik Westlake strode across the battlefield. His curious armor – an amalgam of leather, netherite chain, and black Atlanean glass – made no sound. Only the crunch of his boots on the blackened, rocky soil gave away his presence.

The battle had been long and vicious. There was not a scratch on Eirik but the same could not be said for his soldiers. Half of Eirik’s _centuria_ had been wiped out. Those that had survived did their best to salute their lord as he passed, their spirits dashed to pieces by the fight.

“Lord Aeryk,” the _centuria_ captain groaned, holding his chest. Eirik walked by without a glance – his focus lay squarely on the remains of their _single_ foe.

The giant’s body lay at the center of scores of dead Albion soldiers. With each kill, the beast had grown in both size and strength until it towered fifty feet over Eirik’s men. But it met its fate in the end. 

Eirik pulled the large, black sword known as Battler from the giant’s dead hands. He inspected the sword closely for a moment – the red skies above barely reflecting in black, otherworldly metal. Eirik held the sword for a moment – testing its balance – before sheathing in a new scabbard that seemed made for the ancient blade.

**◄ↈ►**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the first half of The Morlock Chronicles, the culmination of nearly 20 years of "thinking about it." Thank you for reading.  
Parts 4, 5, and 6 are forthcoming. May the muse guide my hand, and Eir give me the strength to finish.


End file.
